Once a Hooker
by TarnishedArmour
Summary: Adrianna had left hooking behind, moved to a new life in Virginia, and renewed her friendship with Spencer Reid.  So why is she giving hooker lessons again? *To a Hooker's sequel. Rating for themes, some content, language, violence.
1. A Night Out

Once a Hooker

a sequel to the fic **To a Hooker**,

both by TarnishedArmour

Timeline: We haven't gotten there yet; about 3-4 episodes in to season 7. By necessity, this is A/U.

Summary: Adrianna had left hooking behind, moved to a new life in Virginia, and renewed her friendship with Spencer Reid. So why is she giving hooker lessons again? *To a Hooker's sequel.

A/N: Extreme liberties will be taken with season 6, mostly because I haven't seen but a few episodes from that season. Extreme liberties will be taken with season 7, but that doesn't really matter, since it hasn't aired yet. Read the news Seaver is getting the boot and Prentiss is returning, though, and that may happen here, too. Any and all errors with canon are mine, but I'll try to stick to the guidelines as much as possible. By my math: Season 4 Ep 7 + 30 months (end of To a Hooker) approximately equals Season 6, last ep.

CM=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+CM

Adrianna had been at VA Charlotte Hall for six months. She loved it. The pace, the people, the seasons…there were actual _seasons_ in Virginia. It was weird. She'd had to learn what a frost line was, how to prepare for a hurricane, so many, many things. And Spencer had been a great help with the transition.

She looked up from the chart she was working on, the last one of the night, and saw a tall, slender man standing near the nurse's station.

"Well, hello, stranger," she said, smiling warmly. It was hard not to like Spencer. "I take if you're free this weekend?" He'd said earlier that, if he had a few days on stand-down, he'd come by.

"Three whole days." He smiled at her, that shy little smile that seemed to be a part of him. "Am I early?"

"Nope." She initialed the last box and dropped the chart in the tray. "I just went over the last of the information with Nancy, my shift is done, and it's quiet here. For now."

"Then we'd better escape quickly," he whispered. "Which way is the air ventilation shaft?"

Adrianna snickered. "No evil overlords here, so no crawl-through ventilation shafts. Sorry. We'll have to use the front door."

Spencer sighed theatrically. "How very pedestrian." Adrianna rolled her eyes and grabbed her bag.

"C'mon. My place, then dinner?" she asked. It wasn't routine, so there was no real plan in place. They hadn't talked over what they wanted to do because their schedules were so unpredictable. Making plans meant breaking plans, and that could lead to hurt feelings and resentment. It was better this way. Adrianna's opening gambit was basic, but something they'd enjoyed a few times. Between his travel and her schedule, there was no good time to meet. More than once, one or the other had called and begged off from their vague plans to meet. For both of them, work had a way of taking over their lives.

"There's a Star Trek movie marathon tonight and tomorrow at Radioplex," he offered. Radioplex was a local independent film house that specialized in genre-themed weeks and months. "I can get tickets."

"Starting with the first movie, right?" she knew what the answer would be, but checked anyway. Of course the owner would start with the first movie. He did things in the proper order. And he was the only game in town for The Rocky Horror Picture Show, live cast. Come to think of it… "Wait, tonight's the Rocky Horror Night. He won't start the marathon tonight."

"You're not going to hold me to that, are you?" he pouted.

"Absolutely," she said with an evil smile. She'd first gone to the show in high school, but it wasn't unexpected that he hadn't even heard of it. For some strange reason, she missed "The Time Warp." She didn't even like the movie. It sucked. But there was something about the live show that made it fun.

"Can I offer a bribe? A massage, maybe?" The hint of desperation in his voice made her pause. They'd reached his car, the old Volvo making her heart warm a little. It was so Spencer. She turned to face him before walking around the car.

"Spencer, you know I would never try to _make_ you go, right? This is something I'd like you to try, but if you're worried about the whole Rocky Horror virgins thing, we don't have to go." She worried about him sometimes. He could get antsy over the oddest things. And the first Rocky Horror live show was traditionally a time for a little hazing and a fair amount of sexual harassment. It was consensual, so maybe it wasn't harassment. Maybe it was just a joke. But would he see it that way?

He shook his head. "It doesn't start until nine," he finally said. "We have a few hours to decide, right?"

"Right," she said. "And I'll even break the rules and answer questions for you," she added.

He shot her a look from the corner of his eye and shook his head. They didn't say anything more until they got in the car, and that was confined to the question of food.

CM=-+=-+=-+CM

Spencer laughed as they walked out of the theatre.

"So, was it as horrible as you thought?" she asked, leaning into him. It felt good when he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, when she had her arm around his waist.

"No," he laughed. "I can't believe you auctioned me off, though."

"You got a good price," she teased. "Six rabid weasels and the stuff growing in Frankenfurter's leather panties? Hey, you could build a career on that research!"

Spencer snorted. It was late, the streets were quiet, and they were too far from Adrianna's apartment to drive back tonight.

"I'll pass. For some reason, I think my job is less disturbing than that movie-or those visuals." Adrianna laughed as they arrived at his car. "Did you like the restaurant?" he asked.

"I did. I'm not a big fan of Indian cuisine, but that was pretty good." It was true. There was something about his favourite restaurant that made the usual fare taste good. She preferred Japanese. "I pick tomorrow, though," she added. He only nodded in reply as they got into the car. As usual, Spencer opened her door and waited until she was settled to close it and walk around to the driver's side.

"My driving doesn't scare you?" he asked, the question coming out of nowhere.

"Why would it?" she asked, confused.

"No reason," he said, dropping the subject.

The trip back to his apartment was uneventful. Once they were inside, Adrianna remembered something. She waited for him to close and lock the door, then smiled.

"It's after midnight, Spencer," she said, watching him.

"That it is," he said, frowning slightly. "Is there some special significance to that fact, or were you just making conversation?"

Adrianna reached into her purse and pulled out a small box wrapped in bright gold paper.

"Happy Birthday, Spencer," she said, offering him the gift.

He blinked. "I guess it is my birthday, isn't it?" He took the box and spent a few minutes gazing at it. "Do you want me to open it now?"

The look on his face, part kid and part shock that she had remembered, much less done anything for him, made her eyes tear up a little. "If you want." Was he still so uncertain about her? Then again, why would he be certain of her when they had letters, conversations, and only a relatively few dates?

He bit his lip and studied the wrapping.

"I don't want to tear the paper," he said, a little sheepishly.

"It's your present," she assured him. "Tear the paper or don't. There is no exact protocol here."

"Garcia would disagree," he said, still looking at the box.

"I have got to meet this Garcia woman you keep talking about," Adrianna said.

"Not yet," Spencer said, shifting his gaze to her.

"Why not?" she asked, mystified. She hadn't met any of his team, and she hadn't gotten a reason why out of him yet, not that she'd tried too hard. He'd tell her in his own good time.

"The team…we don't get much of a personal life. Everybody knows so much about everybody else, and, well, I kinda wanted to keep you all to myself for a little while longer," he admitted, ducking his head and blushing.

Now what in the world could she say to that?

CM=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+CM

A/N: All places, except for VA Charlotte Hall, are fictional. Information about VA Charlotte Hall is also fictional-I'm taking the name in vain, but nothing else. Also taking liberties with Reid's birthday. And if you haven't seen the Rocky Horror live, well, I can say it's an experience. Repetition is, of course, up to you…


	2. Birthday Meetings

Once a Hooker

a sequel to the fic **To a Hooker**,

both by TarnishedArmour

Timeline: We haven't gotten there yet; about 3-4 episodes in to season 7. By necessity, this is A/U.

Summary: Adrianna had left hooking behind, moved to a new life in Virginia, and renewed her friendship with Spencer Reid. So why is she giving hooker lessons again? *To a Hooker's sequel.

CM=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+CM

Sometimes, actions were much better than words, and Adrianna decided this was one of those times. Instead of speaking, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him hard. The few times she'd just hugged him, he'd been shy, hesitant to return it. This time, his arms wrapped hard around her and he held her close, more certain than he'd been before.

When the long moment ended, when the urgency of the contact faded, they moved apart just a little. They didn't let go.

"Adia," he whispered, eyes searching for something. She knew what he wanted to tell her, that she didn't have to get him anything, that this friendship was enough, that he was glad she cared about him at all.

"I know," she replied, voice soft. What he saw in her eyes, she didn't know. All she knew was that it was honest.

So was the kiss they shared. So was the slow, easy walk to his room. So was the sensual feast that kept them awake until exhaustion forced them to sleep.

In the morning, Adrianna slipped on one of Spencer's shirts, unbuttoned a little too low because he _was_ slender and she _did_ have more up top than he did, before heading to the kitchen. Cook had shipped her the coffee last month-another $1,500 for seven pounds, but worth it. She lived simply, and, even in this economy, she was making pretty good money. More than she needed. Spoiling Spencer a little, well, he appreciated it so much. And seven pounds of outrageously expensive coffee every four months wasn't too much. So long as he never figured it out.

She made the coffee, started making a good breakfast that was hearty enough for the cool morning, but wasn't too greasy or heavy. It wasn't cold yet, but for a girl still desert-fresh, it was cold enough. Last night had been wonderful. Today, Spencer could set the schedule. It was his birthday, and she was just happy to spend time with him. And if he wanted to be alone, well, that was fine, too.

A grumble and shuffle-step told her he was awake and coming out of his cave, thanks to the aroma of good coffee.

"Good morning," she said, smiling. He hated mornings. She thought it was absolutely adorable, the grouching and the messy hair; the glasses and the pajama bottoms with a t-shirt; the sleepy look on his face.

He grumbled something as she set a cup of coffee in front of him. She leaned over the counter far enough to kiss him. He kissed her back.

"Good morning," he managed, a little more alert after the kiss. She laughed as he took a sip of coffee, knowing the liquid was scalding hot. He slurped carefully, cooling each sip as much as he could while feeding the caffeine addiction he told her he had nurtured since his days at CalTech.

"Breakfast will be ready in about thirty minutes," she murmured, looking at the clock on the stove. It was almost eleven.

"Does it still qualify as breakfast?" he asked, walking around the counter into the kitchen and pulling her over to him.

"Brunch, then." She couldn't help it. She was curious. "Why?"

"Because," he murmured, leaning down and brushing his lips against her shoulder, "I have an idea how we can spend the time."

Adrianna bit her lip, that wicked desire waking up to his lips that were brushing _just there at _her neck.

"Do you, now?" she whispered, nuzzling his shoulder. "We really shouldn't leave the kitchen." Thirty minutes wasn't long, and a trip back to the bedroom guaranteed smoke alarms and a charred mess in the pan she'd used.

"Don't need to," he replied. He patted the counter. "Hop up."

Adrianna grinned, set her hands on the counter, and hopped. Almost immediately, hands and lips were making short work of the shirt she had been wearing and the pajama pants Spencer had been wearing.

He felt just as good in the morning as he did at night. He was a little less self-conscious, too, when he was still morning-sleepy. Less self-conscious translated into louder. It took some effort, but Adrianna stayed quiet, listening to him, enjoying the sensation and the sound of Spencer Reid.

There was a noise outside, but she didn't register what. Spencer had just done that _thing_ with his fingers…and she was so close…and-

The door flew open, startling her, sending Spencer diving for the back-up weapon he kept in the drawer next to the stove. Adrianna grabbed for the shirt, pulled it around her and stared in shock as a tall, black man with a shaved head and a gun stormed into the apartment. An older man with a goatee was right behind him, gun drawn. And behind them-a little blonde with a gun, a tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed man with a gun, and a chubby woman with glasses and blonde hair who seemed to be holding someone much shorter back in the hallway

"FBI! Don't move!" barked a voice, deep and aggressive, and…not unfamiliar.

"Morgan! What the fuck?" Spencer managed, panting, t-shirt off, pajamas around ankles. He had moved, but was mostly shielded from full exposure by Adrianna. "Why are you _here_?" he demanded. Adrianna's mind had gone blank. She was just looking and gasping for air. Fear inspired adrenaline rushes and pleasure induced endorphin highs did not mix, not at all. She was completely shocked.

"We came by to surprise you with a birthday lunch," the older man with the goatee said.

"Obviously, we surprised you," the clean-shaven, dark-haired man said. He turned to the hallway and said something to the woman and someone else there. She heard a name, maybe Jack?

Spencer muttered something very rude, then said. "There's an invention called the telephone, first patented by Alexandre Graham Bell…"

"We get it, kid," the one he'd called Morgan said, holstering his weapon and holding up his hands. "We'll give you a call in a little while."

Spencer was shaking his head, trembling a little from the adrenaline rush.

"I'll call you," Spencer said, firmly.

The group backed out the door, apologies overlapping, awkwardness in each step they took. When the last one out shut the door, it didn't close properly. The door jamb was busted when it had been kicked in, and the locks were useless. Splinters and pieces of the old wood were in a rather artistic arch across the floor.

"Your friends?" Adrianna managed to ask, voice shaky as her mind started to function again, however slowly.

"Yeah," he replied, running his hand through his hair, messing it up even more. "I, ah, well…" He was starting to say something, but evidently he wasn't processing properly yet, either. He wasn't up to anything else, either. Then again, neither was she at the moment.

Adrianna just shook her head. This birthday would not be forgotten anytime soon.

CM=-+=-+=-+CM

Somehow, they had calmed down enough to eat breakfast, to drink some more coffee, and come down from the combined fear-pleasure high. After they finished eating, Spencer had let her shower first. She walked back into his room, hair damp, his shirt clinging to her damp skin, and saw him hanging up the phone.

"Everything okay?" she asked, knowing that telephone calls did not necessarily portend good things.

"Yeah. Morgan and Hotch are coming over to fix the door frame. Garcia, Rossi, Seaver, and Jack are going to the park while they do that." He hesitated. "If they get here while I'm in the shower…"

"I can wait in here, if you want?" she offered. She thought things would go more smoothly with a proper introduction, and she'd heard about Morgan and Hotch before. He had a lot of respect for these two, at least, it seemed like he did. He may have a little less after this morning's events, though.

Spencer nodded, seemingly relieved. It wasn't a dodge, not really. It only made sense. She needed to dry her hair and pull it back before she got dressed. She'd let her hair grow out a little more, to make it easier to braid and pin up for work, but that meant it took longer to dry and comb out. If she braided it, it would stay damp all day, and she didn't want to go through the hour it would take to style it to some kind of sleek perfection. Today, she'd go with a ponytail, which let her hair finish drying naturally without soaking through her shirt, and, yes, she had a change of clothes at Spencer's. Jeans, t-shirt, and tennis shoes, but they were fine for an easy Saturday. Spencer would probably wear jeans, too.

As he disappeared into the bathroom, she started to work on her hair. She couldn't help but wonder if he would introduce her, send her on her way, or ignore her when his friends were around. She'd gotten all three of those reactions before, but she had no idea what to expect from Spencer. Most of the time, that made spending time with him even better. This time, though, it made her nervous.

Voices from the next room told her that someone had come in. The names Morgan and Hotch were exchanged during the brief conversation, and then a decisive pounding came from the front door. Apparently the repairs wouldn't take long at all.

By the time she was dressed and ready for the day, Spencer had come out of the bathroom, fully dressed. She wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not. When he gave her a wry smile, she relaxed.

"Do you still want to meet the team?" he asked softly, uncertain.

"Only if you want me to. I can slip out after you go…" She left the offer hanging, couldn't stop the glance down. She hoped he didn't want her to do that.

"No!" he almost yelped, horrified. "I didn't mean-" He ran his hand through his hair again, walked over to her. When his fingers brushed her cheek, she looked up. She knew from his soft smile that she hadn't hidden her nervousness. Or her leftover shame.

"If you want to meet them, that's fine with me. I can also tell them I have plans; we'll celebrate at the office." He looked at her for a long minute. "I would never send you away or try to hide you."

Adrianna looked up at him and smiled, a little teary-eyed.

"I know," she admitted, "but sometimes, it comes back, you know?"

"I know," he murmured. He gave her a gentle hug and she leaned into him. He felt so good, so solid, even if he looked like a strong wind could flatten him. When they parted, the front room was quiet. "Ready?" he asked, looking down at her and checking for…something.

"Sure," she said, smiling a little more confidently.

Spencer led her out of his room into the room where Hotch and Morgan were checking their work.

"Bolt's good," the black man said. "Both keys turn and locks engage properly." And he looked a little familiar…

"The facing is tight," the dark-haired man said, checking the seam of the door with his fingertips. "It'll need to be caulked, but that can wait." He looked up, dark eyes seeing them together and eyebrows raising slightly. He stood. "Hello," he said, politeness personified.

The other man turned. "Hey," he added, much more casual.

"Morgan, Hotch," Spencer said. "I'd like you to meet Adrianna O'Shaughnessy, an RN at VA Charlotte Hall. Adia, this is SSA Aaron Hotchner, my unit chief, and SSA Derek Morgan. We work together at the BAU." She felt warm when he used her nickname. He was one of the few who knew that one.

"It's good to finally meet you," Adrianna said, smiling easily. Morgan didn't just _seem_ familiar. He was the one who had warned her off of Spencer that day three years ago in Vegas. Hopefully, he didn't remember her, not when she was dressed like a normal woman, not a hooker. "Spence doesn't talk about work much, but he has mentioned you." She used the shortened form of his name without thinking about it. It got a quirk of eyebrows, but no other reaction.

"We really aren't that bad," Morgan said, grinning. Agent Hotchner, Hotch as Spencer usually called him, just smiled a little. He looked a little uncomfortable with her presence there. Perhaps that was just the way they met. "We haven't heard anything about you, though," Morgan added.

Spencer snorted. "For good reason." At the surprised looks of the two men, he added, "What?"

Adrianna smiled, but said nothing. Spencer could hold his own, when he chose. These were his friends and co-workers. She would leave them to him.

"So, why did you have to break down my door?" Spencer asked, and Adrianna knew he knew why. He wanted to watch them squirm, just a little.

"We heard you groan," Morgan began, looking more than a little sheepish now.

"Given the history of the team, was it unreasonable to assume adverse conditions?" Hotch interrupted, cool as a man could possibly be after barging in on a friend who obviously hadn't needed any help.

Spencer smiled a little. "And if I say yes?"

The two men just gave him a look, and Adrianna didn't catch the subtext. That there was a history of Spencer and bad things happening, she knew. But the rest? It didn't make sense.

"So," Spencer changed the subject. "What was it you were planning to do today?"

"We had hoped to surprise you with a day out," Hotch said, smiling a little. "But if you decline, we'll understand."

Spencer turned and looked at Adrianna.

"Your choice," she murmured, just loud enough that they could hear. "We can get together again later."

"Or you can join us," Spencer countered. Adrianna smiled at that. Maybe this would be a good day, after all.

CM=-+=-+=+CM

At the park across the street from Spencer's apartment, Spencer introduced Adrianna to Rossi, Seaver, and Garcia. Hotch introduced her to Jack. The miniature version of Hotch wasn't quite as intimidating as the original. In fact, mini-Hotch was quite a little charmer.

"Hi," he said, smiling up at her shyly as he shook her hand. "I'm Jack. I'm gonna be an FBI agent when I grow up. Just like my dad."

"Well, then," Adrianna said, smiling and crouching down a little, "I'd better be good, huh?"

Jack nodded, a smug little smile on his serious little face, and Hotch ruffled his hair. Adrianna stood, charmed by him. Serious or not, Hotch was a good father. Not perfect, by any means, but he tried. That was more than she could say for a lot of the men she'd met.

"So," Spencer said after accepting birthday greetings from the two women, which included a big hug from Garcia. "What now?"

"The weather's just right to stay outside," Morgan commented. While Reid wasn't known for his love of the outdoors, he could be persuaded to do something outside when the weather was perfect. It was cool, not cold, sunny, and beautiful. There was nothing to object to, really.

"Sounds good," Spencer said, thinking. "You know, there's an exhibit of modern sculpture up near D.C…."

Adrianna listened as they batted around ideas, finally coming up with something everyone could enjoy: a trip to the U.S. Marines Museum near the base. It wasn't far away, there were indoor and outdoor exhibits, and there was a special area for kids.

Spencer's fingers tangled with hers as they started walking. They weren't quite to the cars when the older man, Dave, gave Adrianna a long look.

"Excuse me, Adrianna, but have we met?" he asked. She didn't stop walking, didn't give any sign of the dread that was filling her. Only Spencer could feel the tightening of her hand.

Now what?

CM=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+CM

A/N: There is a Marine Corps museum near the base, but any information provided in the fic is not based on anything other than the existence of said museum. In other words, I made up the details. ;-)


	3. Conversations

Once a Hooker

a sequel to the fic **To a Hooker**,

both by TarnishedArmour

Timeline: We haven't gotten there yet; about 3-4 episodes in to season 7. By necessity, this is A/U.

Summary: Adrianna had left hooking behind, moved to a new life in Virginia, and renewed her friendship with Spencer Reid. So why is she giving hooker lessons again? *To a Hooker's sequel.

CM=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+CM

She thought quickly. He recognized her, maybe. Morgan hadn't, from what she could tell. They knew how people looked when they lied. So she was honest.

"No," she said. "Spence has told me about you all, in a general sense. But we haven't met."

"You just…seem familiar, that's all," Rossi said, smiling at her. She knew he hadn't read anything but the truth from her reaction, so she wasn't worried about her past at the moment. Later, when the munchkin was out of earshot and Morgan and Rossi had a minute to talk, then she might have to explain. But for now, she was safe. Doubly so, since they were at the cars.

A minute later, she was in the car with Spencer, following Hotch's car and Garcia's tribute to Detroit to the museum.

Now all she had to do was get through the day without giving away her past.

"Relax," Spencer said. "He knew you weren't lying. You haven't met before today."

"Sometimes, Spence," she said, shaking her head, "you pick the damnedest times to catch on to what people are thinking."

"It's easier to be clueless around the team," he admitted. "I catch a lot more than they think, but they leave me alone after a while if they think I can't catch on. That, and the teasing is predictable that way." He didn't have to explain that. She knew, from him, how hard it was to be a prodigy in Vegas. He'd learned how to survive in a hostile environment, then he was at CalTech. It was there that he learned some confidence, the surety that he had when he was outside of the purely technical aspects of his work. Then he'd gone out into the real world, and the shock of life in the macrocosm had pushed him back several years. He'd found his equilibrium among the team again, and he trusted them - to an extent.

"Rossi was fishing," she warned. "It won't be long until he remembers - or Morgan does. Are you up for that?"

Spencer smiled and glanced at her. "What is there to say? You're an RN. When we met, we were both playing video poker. When we met again, you were a student at UNLV."

"Somehow, I doubt they'll see it that way," she murmured. She could hear it now, accusations of settling, comments about blind dates if he needed a woman that bad - but a hooker? Even if she wasn't in the life anymore, the stigma was still there. Damn Victorian England and the Refomers. Damn the Puritans. There was such a long history of going into the life to get the money to survive, then leaving it…but she knew where the team would come down. She wasn't good enough for their Reid.

"Does it matter? I mean, you're not seeing _them_. Technically, we aren't dating, so there's no reason for them to be concerned on that point." He paused.

"I know. We're friends, sometimes lovers. But it will matter," she said. She looked at him. They were parked now, the others piling out of the car. "It will." Especially after what they saw when they first met that morning. They'd think he was paying her, that she was taking advantage of him, that he didn't even know it.

Spencer sat there for a minute. When he didn't say anything, she spoke.

"We need to get out."

Spencer nodded, and they got out of the car. It wasn't a long walk to the entrance, and the group split up a little, wandering to the areas of personal interest, forming groups and splitting again as they walked and wondered.

CM=-+=-+=-+CM

It was time for dinner. They were walking back to the entrance, Garcia insisting on a familiar Japanese restaurant for dinner, saying it was her treat. Spencer looked pained, but agreed. Something about the way Morgan and Rossi looked back at them, the way they looked at her, made her think the grace period was over.

"It sounds wonderful, Garcia, but I need to get Jack home. He has a project to work on, and tonight is spaghetti night with Aunt Jess," Hotch said, declining for them. He knew what she did: dinner with the group wouldn't be appropriate that night, not for little ears. It wouldn't be intentional, but it would happen. Adrianna could see the signs. She was going to be grilled, and there would be no few references to counters and mornings during dinner. Depending upon the amount of alcohol involved, things could get downright raunchy.

"Thanks for coming out, Hotch," Spencer said, smiling and shaking his boss's hand. "And thank you, Jack, for joining us at the stuffy, old museum."

"It was fun, Uncle Spencer!" Jack chirped. "I didn't know you knew so much about airplanes!"

Spencer smiled. Of course he knew about airplanes. And boats. And various weapons. They were mechanical and electrical. They obeyed the laws of physics.

"Happy birthday, Spencer," Hotch said quietly. "Adrianna," he murmured, nodding politely to her.

Adrianna smiled and said a polite goodbye that was just warm enough to be considered friendly. It was time to jump into the lion's den.

CM=-+=-+=-+CM

General laughter faded as the meal arrived. Spencer groaned as the waitress provided only chopsticks for them.

"What's wrong?" Adrianna asked, looking at him. She had to turn on the seat to look at him, since he was sitting on her right.

"I need a fork," Spencer said. "I can't use chopsticks. They just don't work."

Adrianna gave him a funny look. "Spence, you're a magician. Chopsticks are not permitted to be your dexterity Waterloo." She tipped her head to the side. "Show me."

"What?" he blinked at her, looked confused.

"Show me what you're doing," she said. "How are you holding them?" Spencer demonstrated and she saw the problem. She watched him adjust the slender utensils a few times, but he was using the wrong fingers. "Here," she said, holding out her hand. "Put your hand over mine." She held her hand to the side, a little in front of him. Spencer gave her a wary look, but slid his hand around hers. She moved closer to him so the reach wasn't so far. It wasn't the first time she'd given instructions on how to use chopsticks.

"Okay, slide your hand up until the web between your thumb and forefinger touch the end of the chopstick." He did, and she glanced over at him. "Now, wrap your hand around mine, the pinky and ring fingers as support, the middle finger bracing it." He followed her instructions, his fingers touching the chopstick, even with her hand in the way. "Good. Now," she lifted tipped her hand and rested the tips of the chopsticks against the edge of her plate. "Flex the hand just enough to put the tips together and separate the wide ends, then brace the top stick between your thumb and forefinger, like a pen." He did. She looked up at him over her shoulder. "Move your forefinger up to open the tips, then down to grasp and close the tips." She moved her finger, letting him feel the motion a few times. Then she slipped her hand from between his and the chopsticks. "Your turn."

Spencer studied the chopsticks, the way they rested in his hand. Then he moved his finger up and down. A slow smile crept across his face. When he looked at her, the smile had become a grin and had reached his eyes. She was looking at him over her shoulder, he was still that close. She could have kissed him. He didn't kiss her, but the way they lingered in that position, so close, well, someone had to notice. And someone did.

"Now that," Garcia said, "was hot." She grinned as she fanned herself with one hand. Her chopsticks were securely and comfortably held in one hand. The rest of the group had watched the chopsticks lesson. And Spencer just now realized that fact.

Spencer looked down, seemingly embarrassed, but Adrianna knew he was trying not to laugh. She could feel the strain. Instead of saying anything, she just looked over at Garcia from where she was and winked, a little smile on curving her lips. She knew how to imply certain things, and that look said, 'you have no idea.'

Morgan and Rossi were quiet. Seaver was picking up her beef and broccoli easily, seemingly oblivious to the byplay.

"Have we met?" Morgan asked. "'Cause you look familiar."

"We were never introduced," Adrianna admitted. She scooted over a little, giving Spencer room to investigate the wonder of working chopsticks and, incidentally, eat. She picked up another pair of the utensils and started to work on her own dinner.

"But I've seen you before," Morgan pushed.

"I lived in Las Vegas my whole life. It's entirely possible, yes," she said. "I don't know what you have and have not seen. I do know that we weren't introduced until today."

"Right." Morgan left it alone for a minute.

Spencer nudged her and was about to say something, but when she turned to look at him, Rossi said it.

"You're the hooker. From the casino." It was not a question.

"No," she said softly. "I was the woman gambling at the video poker banks, and I _am_ the nurse from the VA clinic just across the bay."

"Wait, you're a hooker?" Garcia said, picking up on the one word that Adrianna swore she would purge from her vocabulary one day. Soon. "Reid, what are you doing with a hooker? You can-"

"Leave it, Garcia," Spencer said, an edge to his voice. "I already had this conversation with Rossi and Morgan."

"Please, kid, there's no way-"

"Morgan." The one word shut down the conversation immediately. Adrianna knew that Spencer could take care of himself, but she hadn't thought he could get the crack of a whip into his voice so quickly.

Adrianna took a breath. She felt Spencer's hand slide onto her leg, felt the gentle squeeze, knew no one else could see how his hand had moved under the table. There were benefits to his magic, and subtlety and misdirection were not her favourites, but they were in the top five right now.

"Spence," she said softly. He looked at her. Somehow, she told him that until they knew, they wouldn't leave it alone. Or maybe he already knew that. When he nodded, accepting her decision, she turned back to Morgan and Rossi. Morgan looked angry, Rossi seemed amused-but-protective, and Garcia…looked like a mother bear. Seaver was the only one who wasn't somehow inclined to protect Spencer. For that, Adrianna liked her.

"I was…in the life," Adrianna said. "For six years. I got out of it shortly after I met Spencer at the casino." She left so much out, but they didn't need the details. Those were _hers_ to give away or keep, and she was not inclined to give right now. "We went out for dinner, a few days later. I had re-enrolled at UNLV, and I paid for dinner." She paused, checked to see where Spencer was with his drink. "Well, actually, Spencer paid for about half of it. With the money from video poker."

Spencer choked. She patted his back as he stared at her.

"That was over two-"

"I know." She shrugged. "It was an expensive burger."

Spencer stared at her. The others looked confused. Neither Spencer nor Adrianna made the attempt to alleviate their curiosity. A minute later, Garcia spoke again.

"So, you're not a hooker anymore," she confirmed.

"I work at a VA clinic. I am a nurse. Registered, licensed, practicing,…and I'm enrolled at Georgetown to get my MSN with a concentration in Gerontology." She paused. "Unless you think that's too good for me." There was an edge to her voice that she knew they would read, and most likely they would get at least partially correct. She was irritated. More than that, she was getting a little angry. "Because you have nothing in your past that you've done that could possibly be wrong."

Garcia's mouth snapped shut. She looked away. Adrianna moved her gaze to Morgan, then to Rossi. Both of the men had the grace to look a little ashamed of themselves. Neither one apologized. It was up to Seaver to break the tension.

"So you grew up in the desert," the young blonde said, tipping her head to the side. "How are you liking the rain?"

"It's wet," Adrianna said, "other than that, I'm not sure. Rain is an _event_ in Vegas, so the frequency here is…weird." She furrowed her brow. "Do any of you know what the difference in 'all weather radials' and 'snow tires' is? Is there a difference? Is there a lot of snow around here?"

The tension around the table eased and Morgan smiled a little.

"Well, the biggest difference is…" Adrianna listened as Morgan explained which tire she needed on her car. The desert really was simpler. She needed tires soft enough to grip the road and hard enough not to start melting in the heat. Other than that, one day was much like the rest.

Spencer's hand squeezed her thigh again, reassuring her that everything was okay, for now. The knot in her gut, the one that had been tightening and growing all day, loosened enough for her to eat and enjoy her dinner.

It wasn't until near the end of dinner, after everyone had relaxed enough to laugh and joke around, when focus was on Rossi and something that he'd said a few weeks before that Spencer leaned over and whispered in her ear.

"You are going to explain a four thousand dollar dinner to me, with an itemized list."

Adrianna felt his breath on her ear and shivered a little. If she played this right, she could get him to coax it out of her. Considering the interruption earlier in the day, maybe that wasn't a bad idea.

CM=-+=-+=-+CM

Back at Spencer's, Adrianna leaned against the counter. He'd poured a glass of Four Roses for himself, and for her, a nice merlot.

"So, that dinner?" he nudged.

"It seems expensive," she began, only to be interrupted.

"Seems?" he asked, eyes wide. "That's more than half of my net income for the month! It _is_ expensive."

"Spencer," she said softly, putting down her wine. "You know we never talked about how much I…earned. Before. That dinner," she paused. "That dinner was less than half of what I'd make in one night." She let that sink in. "And I worked about three weeks or so each month, except for testing and menstruation." She paused. "That's an average, of course, and there are various expenses that go with the life, but…I didn't leave because of the money. I only started because of the money."

Spencer gave her a long look. "You don't have to work, do you?" he asked softly.

"Financially, I can take some serious time off, even with supporting my sister through the graduate programs available. Mentally, physically, yes, I do. I need to work, to help people who need it. Could you just quit?" This felt like a fight. They weren't yelling, but that's what it felt like. Was this the end?

They were quiet for a long time.

"Prostitution isn't actually legal in the city," Spencer finally said.

"Legal is such a vague term," Adrianna replied. "And it depends on who you are and how you work."

"The closest legal-"

"It's not legality, Spencer," Adrianna said, an edge to her voice. "It's what you know."

"That doesn't make sense. You know it wasn't legal-"

"About who you know," she finished, calmly. "I knew the two most influential women in the state. They weren't angels by any stretch of the imagination. Neither worked as a madam, but they knew the game, the players…and the system."

"So…you bribed law enforcement to look the other way?" Spencer asked. The look he gave her was like a knife to the gut. She had to cut that line of thought off, quick.

"No. But those of us who knew the women, who paid a fee to them for security and records-keeping…we knew how to keep away from the stings. From the cops. From anybody who could cause us grief, legally." She paused. "You know why I got into the life, Spencer. Do you blame me for not seeing a way out quickly enough? For losing hope - faith in humanity?"

He thought for a long minute. That was better than a snap answer. No matter what he said, she knew it would have thought behind it. If he said yes, she thought she might break down and cry.

"No," he said slowly.

"Why?" she asked, pushing.

"Because I've lost faith, too," he said, his voice quiet, not looking at her. She didn't walk over to him, but waited. There was more here. "After Hankle, after…the Dilaudid, missing the plane, losing Prentiss…there's so much that's happened…" He took a breath, turned to look out the window at the evening street. "I'm an addict," he said softly. Adrianna was glad he couldn't see her blink. That was not what she expected to hear. "I've been down the spiral, seen what it looks like from underneath. No," he finished. "I can't blame you."

"It's a lot different looking up from the bottom." She hadn't been addicted, but she could see the comparison. Once you were in the middle of something like that... "It's like reaching for Sirius. There's no way to make it…"

"So why even try?" he finished, finally turning to look at her. "I understand." He held out his hand to her. Adrianna picked up her wine and walked over to him. She didn't want to talk anymore, didn't want to continue a conversation she hadn't wanted in the first place. Spencer seemed to be in the same place, so when he picked up the remote and turned to the Alien Invasion program marathon on the Discovery Channel, she didn't say anything. She didn't want to start anything, so she culed up with him and simply took comfort from his presence. From the way he pulled her close, she knew she wasn't the only one finding comfort in the silent embrace.

Later, in bed, when they'd been quietly curled together for a while, he spoke again.

"Adia, will you tell me how much?" he asked softly.

"For what?" she asked, her cheek on his shoulder.

"The first night."

She thought for a minute. "You don't want to know," she whispered. She didn't want to remember. Not that night. Not ever. It hadn't been bad. In truth, it had been the kind of night a lot of girls had described as their dream first. Adrianna knew the difference now, though, and the first night with Spencer, with flat champagne and sweaty cheese and wilting fruit…that was her new perfection.

"Okay," he whispered back to her.

Sometime after that, she fell asleep, comfortable in the knowledge that Spencer would let her keep that part of her life separate from the present.

CM=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+CM

A/N: Please let me know what you think so far. I know it's going a little slow, but the case will get here soon.


	4. Life and Crime

Once a Hooker

a sequel to the fic **To a Hooker**,

both by TarnishedArmour

Timeline: We haven't gotten there yet; about 3-4 episodes in to season 7. By necessity, this is A/U.

Summary: Adrianna had left hooking behind, moved to a new life in Virginia, and renewed her friendship with Spencer Reid. So why is she giving hooker lessons again? *To a Hooker's sequel.

CM=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+CM

_The past is a foreign country. They do things differently there.  
><em>_~Leslie Poles Hartley_

The rest of the weekend was quiet, pleasant. There was nothing urgent, no problems that came up, no case that disturbed the new equilibrium that Adrianna had found with Spencer. Somehow, they were even more relaxed with one another, now that a few things were out in the open. It seemed counterintuitive, that the team knowing about her, that she had been a prostitute, would make things easier between them. But it did.

Monday morning found her back in the clinic, talking to a man who had seen three wars and lived to tell about them.

"Well, Mr. Brady, you should be fine again in a few days. This weather seems to be getting to a lot of people," she said, finishing the injection and quickly disposing of the sharp.

"Hell, at my age, getting up in the morning is a good sign," he said with a laugh. The laugh became a cough.

"That's a good sign at any age," Adrianna said, rubbing his back until the spasms passed. "Would you like me to print the dosing instructions for you?" she asked.

"If you would, that'd be good." He took a shaky breath or two, but the congestion wasn't deep in his chest. She was glad he'd come in quickly. There had been two vets hospitalized in the last week, and she knew that the money wasn't going to be easy for them. Fortunately, they both had family close by. Mr. Brady was far away from his family, so he had been more careful than the others.

"Large print?" she asked, moving to the small computer station and clicking a few buttons.

"If it's available. I don't want to put you out," he said, a local term for making things more difficult that she had finally gotten used to.

"No trouble at all. I just click this little button…and voilà! Large print directions for your prescription and a few little tips on what will make the symptoms a little easier on you."

Mr. Brady gave her a smile, his dentures slipping just a little.

"Next time I call you Nurse Ratchet," he said, "you can just tell me to go to hell."

"Nah. I'll just ask the doctor to prescribe an enema," she replied, grinning. "And, speaking of prescriptions, yours are done and waiting for you at the window."

"Why thank you, Nurse Ratchet," he said, snickering. Adrianna reached into a cabinet and pulled out a pre-packaged disposable enema kit and brandished it at him. The old man cackled all the way out the door, careful not to laugh too hard.

Adrianna noted the chart, initialed for the injection, and slipped it into the file drop next to the door for the admin nurse to pick up. Without looking, she put the enema kit back where it belonged, took off her gloves, and went to the counter for the next chart. In three steps, she was at the door, facing a room full of people.

"Mrs. McIntyre?" she called, looking around the room. A younger woman stood up, about to pop with her baby, and waddled slowly toward the door.

Adrianna smiled and held the door open for her, wondering how she managed to move at all with the extra weight and inches.

The rest of the week was much the same.

CM=-+=-+=-+CM

On Friday, Spencer called. Adrianna smiled as they talked. A few minutes later, she was heading over to see Spencer at his apartment. She didn't have to go in until Tuesday this week, so it was easier for her to go see him.

When she arrived, she let herself in, the key he had given her next to hers on her ring. She'd given him a key to her place as well, just in case. He was in the kitchen, opening boxes of Japanese take out, preparing chopsticks for them. She smiled. It wasn't _if_ Spencer could understand and use something correctly, it was making the information and process accessible. Most of the time, he could do it on his own. Every so often, he needed a boost. Problem was, that since he could figure it out on his own so well, when he did need help, he didn't know how to ask for it.

Something on the table caught her eye. She took a look. The photo was of an incision, about three inches across, with a perpendicular cut about an inch across. The edges were clean and the work precise.

"Are you taking surgery classes?" she asked, lifting the picture to look at it a little better.

"What?" he asked, turning to look at her. "I didn't hear you come in-and that's a consult file," he said, hustling over to take the picture from her. He slipped it into the jacket and moved slipped it into his bag. "You're not supposed to see this." He seemed agitated.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, not sure what to do next. Should she apologize, or just move on?

"No, it's just…that file. There's something off about it." He shook his head, then stopped suddenly. "What was that about taking surgery classes?"

"That set of cuts, it's a classic surgical opening for the thoracic cavity. It's used mostly for transplants or removing cancers, sometimes for repair to traumatic puncture wounds." She thought for a minute. "That length and width isn't used much anymore, so whoever made it was trained old-school."

Spencer nodded, seeming to be in his own little world. He gave her a long look, considering something carefully.

"Would you be willing too look at some other pictures?" Spencer asked. "We'd have to go in to the office."

"Sure. Will that cause any problems for you?" she asked, knowing that he didn't want her to be part of the BAU group, but also knowing that she had something that he seemed to need.

"No. We can consult with experts as needed," he replied. "I can't show you the entire file, but the pictures, autopsy notes, things of that nature are readily available."

"I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm an expert, Spence," she said, frowning. "And if you're looking for surgical references and histories, there are several doctors and professors I can point you to-"

"It's not that. It's something else, but if I tell you, it might bias you." He pursed his lips.

Adrianna nodded her understanding. "Not a problem. You'll get my unbiased opinion tomorrow, for what it's worth."

"Okay." He looked around for a minute, then remembered something else. "Dinner," he blurted. "I got Japanese." He grinned at her. "With chopsticks."

Adrianna nodded. "Sounds good."

When she joined him at the table, she saw two pair of black and gold lacquered chopsticks on napkins. The smile she gave him showed exactly how much that meant to her: not just that he'd bought a pair of good quality chopsticks, but that he'd bought a pair for her to use as well.

It was as close to commitment as either of them had come. And that was just about perfect.

CM=-+=-+=-+CM

"So, this is the BAU," she said, looking around. "It doesn't look like a fiendishly diabolical government office filled with experts in torture, dissection, and murder."

"You were expecting racks and St. Andrew's crosses on the walls? A few chains and a rack of blades?" The look he shot her gave her the answer.

"Well, no. But it's rather…institutional." She looked around. "And a lot like a fishbowl." She walked with him to his desk. "This is yours?"

"Yep. My little corner of the reef," he said, teasing her.

"Goldfish don't get reefs. They get fake coral and silly little pirate ships."

"Darn." He flipped through some files on his desk, then frowned. "They're not here. Hang on." She stood next to the desk, waiting while he left for a few minutes. Adrianna studied the desk. There wasn't much to it. This was clearly a work space, meant to be a work space, and the few personal items were difficult to place within any particular context. A minute later, Spencer reappeared, holding three other files.

"These are the ones I could find - oh, hey, Garcia. What are you doing in today?" he asked. Adrianna turned around and saw Garcia standing a few feet away. The blonde woman was quiet.

"I came in to see Morgan. He was working on something in a consult file, and he asked me to come in to look something up in my system." She gave Adrianna a look, then turned back to Spencer. "So, is this bring a friend to work day?"

"Huh? Oh, no. I wanted to check a few files, too. There was something off about them, and Adia mentioned that it looked surgical." He tipped his head to the side. "Since you're here, would you put a few things up on the screen in the briefing room?"

"Sure. Just give me a few minutes, then let me know." She nodded, gave Adrianna a quick smile, and turned quickly to walk to her office.

"She doesn't like me," Adrianna said, her voice soft.

"But you got along last week," Spencer said, a little confused. "Why wouldn't she like you now?"

"She wasn't too happy with me last week. Now I'm here…this may not work out well, Spence."

"If there's a problem, we'll deal with it," he said, dismissing her concerns.

"You don't sound concerned," Adrianna said, realizing how easily it had been for him to slip into a mode she hadn't seen before. This was work-mode. Everything else was secondary - even friendships.

"I'm not. We're here to work. If Garcia has a problem with that, we can deal with it later. Right now, though, we need to go up those stairs and into the briefing room." He started walking up the stairs. Adrianna shook her head and followed him.

This was a mistake. She knew this was a mistake. But here she was, ready and waiting.

A minute later, Morgan walked in.

"Hey," he said, nodding to them. "What brought you in on a Saturday morning? I thought you'd be cookin'," he added with a grin.

He got zero points for subtlty.

"This file. I wanted Adia to look at it, and a few others." Spencer was pulling photos from files and putting them on the glass board.

"Uh, can I see you for a second? Sorry, Adrianna," he added. At least he was being nice about wanting to tell Spencer to pack it up and take her home. That was going to be the conversation, but he was taking it just outside the room. As if she couldn't hear.

"What are you doing, bringing your girl in? What is she going to tell you about these files?" From the tone of voice, Morgan wasn't even pretending to keep it down.

"There's something that's been bothering me," Spencer said, and she couldn't hear the rest. It wasn't surprising. Spencer was more sensitive to sound than a lot of people were, so he tended to be quieter.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Morgan said, loud enough that Adrianna knew she wouldn't be summarily kicked out. The two men walked in, and Morgan blinked when he saw the pictures. "You were looking at these?" he asked.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Hang on a second." Morgan leaned over and tapped the phone in the middle of the round table. "You there, Baby Girl?" he asked.

"Ready and waiting," Garcia chirped back. "What kind of ickyness can I find for you today."

"I need you to pull up the following files, pictures only," he said, rattling off a string of numbers and letters that Adrianna supposed made sense somewhere in the world. Here was that place, and soon, several close-ups of the same two perpendicular cuts populated the screen.

Adrianna moved to the screen and looked it over carefully. The location of the cuts, the angles, the consistency…they were the same. She moved to the photographs. Again, the cuts were identical.

"These look like they were made by the same person," she said, "or by a really good student."

"What makes you say that?" Morgan asked, voice quiet. It was like he didn't really want to know the answer.

"Every one of these cuts is the same size. The angles are the same, but it's not the usual incision. This is to remove or repair." She mimicked the motion of retracting the skin. "This is something you'd see in oncology, maybe, or trauma. I worked in the university hospital, as part of the program. I learned about each of the areas of nursing, and this reminds me of those two sections. The biggest difference is that these cuts are too big, and the location on the torso, right over the pancreas in each instance, no matter the difference in size and shape. Well, that's not common, not anymore. For that matter, it's not common at all, and neither is this particular cut. This is something I've seen on a lot of the older vets, mostly from field hospitals and quick-and-dirty repairs. It's a cut used to remove shrapnel, tumors, even organs. Now that there's more in the way of robotic arms-there's less trauma to the thoracic cavity. This, even with a hospital, would be a nasty incision." She paused. "How deep did it go?"

"Through all layers and into the protected areas of the abdomen," Spencer answered. "The perpendicular cut wasn't as deep, it stopped before penetrating the muscle."

Adrianna nodded. "I don't… Was anything removed from the bodies?" she asked, turning to face the two men. "Organs, muscles-even layers of fat?"

"Nothing," Spence replied, and that wasn't what he was looking for.

"Was anything implanted?" she asked.

Morgan shook his head, but Spencer paused before speaking. Morgan noticed.

"What is it, man?" he asked softly.

"There was something…" he shuffled trough the files and fished out an autopsy report. "Hey, Garcia, are you still there?"

"Always, mon ami," she replied.

"Can you pull up the pictures from the autopsy report on Jenna Kerry?" he asked.

"Ask and you shall receive," she said, the sound of tapping keys loud in the background. "One Jenna Kerry coming up."

Adrianna thought that sounded rather like ordering oysters on the half shell, but didn't say anything. She didn't want to be disrespectful.

"There," Spencer said, pointing to the lower corner of the photo. "Do you see that? The report says it was mostly destroyed, but there was a corner of some paper between the cuts. The bodies were found about 56 hours or so after death, so decomposition had already started. Combine that with local wildlife in the area..."

"And you got a signature that's been mostly destroyed by the time we see it," Morgan said, shaking his head. "It looks like newspaper," he added.

"Yes," Adrianna said, studying the picture. "It..looks…no. It couldn't be."

"What?" Morgan asked, seeing the blur, but not recognizing it.

"It looks like part of an ad from one of the bachelor rags," she said. She turned to look at them, saw the confusion, and added, "How prostitutes in Nevada advertise. It's how a lot of the business gets done."

"Right," Morgan said. He left it there. Either he had accepted her past as over, or he wasn't considering personal lives.

"Look," Spencer said, "There's the same shadow in this picture." He turned to look at Adrianna. "How can you tell it's from a classified ad?"

"I've seen a lot of those ads. That," she pointed to the part of the picture that was visible, "is part of a silhouette of a breast. It was a pretty common ad. Some of the girls I got along with would ask me to look over their ads, see if they were…good. And a friend of mine had all of the working girls she knew keep ads on file with her." She took a breath. "I thought about going that route, but I didn't."

"Why not? Was it more dangerous?" Morgan asked. He seemed genuinely curious.

"I charged too much," Adrianna said frankly. "And the life is always dangerous. I wound up in the hospital a few times, and I was very, very careful." This time, she didn't touch her chin. Morgan nodded slowly. That wasn't pity in his eyes. It was more like...sympathy? Garcia, undoubtedly still present on the line, didn't say anything.

"Can you see any names on the ad?" Spencer asked, nose almost touching the photograph.

"No, and it's useless to try. The names and pictures are generic. The chances the girl looks anything like the silhouette or picture are slim." She shook her head, looking at the pictures again. They weren't really disturbing, but the consistency was freaking her out a little. No doctor would do this - would they? "These are just weird. Is this the kind of case you get all the time?"

"No," Morgan said. He was still watching her carefully.

"Normally, we already know that there's been more than one murder with the same signature," Spencer added. "All of these came in as separate files. Only two are from the same state, and those are miles apart."

"Where are they from?" Adrianna asked, curious.

"Reno, and about sixty miles outside of Las Vegas," Spencer replied. "Adia," he said slowly, "did you know either of these girls?" Spencer showed her the pictures of the faces, and Adrianna felt her blood pressure drop.

"That's Candy - I don't know her birth name, but she was called Candy because her hair looked like butterscotch lozenges, and she was so sweet…" She pointed to the other picture. "That's Pepper." The Latina looked hot and wild, even though she was sallow with the pallor of death. "She was a pistol, but she was careful. These girls were high-end. They didn't advertise."

Spencer and Morgan looked at each other.

"I'll call Hotch," Morgan said. Spencer nodded and went to sit next to Adrianna. Morgan walked down the way to his office, leaving them alone.

"Are you okay?" Spencer asked, taking her hand.

"Yeah," she said, nodding. "Or no, but I will be." She looked at Spencer, eyes wide. "Candy was leaving the life. She got out a month before I quit. She was _out of it_, Spencer." Adrianna couldn't shop the shiver.

"Spence, that could've been me."

CM=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+CM


	5. After Hours & Phone Calls

Once a Hooker

a sequel to the fic **To a Hooker**,

both by TarnishedArmour

Timeline: We haven't gotten there yet; about 3-4 episodes in to season 7. By necessity, this is A/U.

Summary: Adrianna had left hooking behind, moved to a new life in Virginia, and renewed her friendship with Spencer Reid. So why is she giving hooker lessons again? *To a Hooker's sequel.

A/N: POV shifts marked with CM=-+CM=-+CM break.

CM=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+CM

It wasn't long before Morgan returned to the room. He saw Spencer with his arm around Adrianna and asked, "What's wrong?"

"She knew two of the victims," Spencer said. Adrianna shuddered at the word 'victim'. It seemed so final. So vicious, turning these two bright, beautiful women into things to put on tables, to poke and prod…to forget.

Morgan was quiet for a minute. "Hotch said we're going to review on Monday. The time between these murders is about one month, and they're all in different cities, different states. There's no sign of escalation, and the latest victim was found about five days ago. He wants to go over everything, then put together a profile of where this guy will go next. But we don't need to do that until Monday."

"Will we go wheels-up, do you think?" Spencer asked. Adrianna could hear him, could hear them, but she couldn't get that word 'victim' out of her head. It was sick. Disgusting. She hated that word and everything it stood for now. Hated it.

"If we can get ahead of him, yeah," Morgan said. "But this is going to take time to crack."

Spencer nodded. She could feel the movement, but she couldn't look up. Not while everything was on the screen. Not when her friends were on that screen. He said something else, but she didn't hear him. She was thinking about her friends.

Candy and Pepper: two of the best, brightest, smartest working girls she knew. And they were gone. Just like that. And it could have been her.

Or…maybe not. She needed to call Mrs. Ibsen, or maybe even the Queen, and let them know. See if there was any connexion between Candy and Pepper, other than their work. See if any other girls had disappeared. See if they knew anything. Or if they could find out.

It wasn't fear, she told herself. Well, it was, but not for herself. It was worry about the other girls. About the reputation for security that Mrs. Ibsen and the Queen had. If that disappeared…so much died with it. Maybe even the two women themselves. Certainly a lot more girls would end up hurt and in the hospital.

"Adia," Spencer said softly. She looked up at him, blinking. "Are you ready to go?"

"What about…" she motioned to the pictures.

"Morgan will put them back in the files. He's going to dig around in the archives with Garcia and see if there are any others that match the parameters."

"There are parameters for this?" she asked, knowing it was a stupid question. It made sense to put borders and boundaries on crimes, but to know that surgical incisions, that newspaper ads stuffed into wounds, that prostitutes were parameters just tipped her world the wrong way. It wasn't _right_.

"More like measures of frequency and matching the traits of each crime. It's complex, but parameters is not an inaccurate summation of the process." He sounded like a professor.

"Spencer," she said, then stopped. She didn't want to be one of those people, the ones that told him to shut up, the ones that rolled their eyes and dismissed him. She wanted to listen. But right now…it was too surreal. "Can we…talk about it later?" she finally managed.

"Of course," he said, seeming to understand that she meant it. But she couldn't handle it now. "Do you want to go home?" he asked softly.

"No," she said. She looked at him. "I want to go back to your apartment, until tomorrow, at least." She took a breath, felt lost. Knew what she needed to come back to herself. And said it. "I want you to make love to me, to get these images out of my head…for a little while. Until it makes sense."

"It doesn't make sense," Spencer said, brushing her hair back from her face. "When it does…it'll be time to leave."

Adrianna nodded. "Okay," she said. She couldn't hold any more information. Not right now. She wasn't cut out for trauma or surgery, and she'd really known it by the time she finished her rotations. She was so far out of her depth with this that it wasn't even funny.

Spencer stood, wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and walked back to his desk. Neither one noticed Derek Morgan had been in the room, or that he watched them as they paused for Spencer to pick up his messenger bag and then walk to the elevator.

CM=-+CM=-+CM

Derek stayed silent as he heard Adrianna tell Reid to take her home and make love to her. He didn't say anything, barely moved as Spencer told her something he hadn't told anyone else: his breaking point.

When the monsters made sense, Reid would run. And Derek understood that. He also knew what Reid knew, that Adrianna was in shock now. She hadn't been before, when the pictures had been abstract, isolated cuts. He waited until they left before he moved to the door.

Reid didn't take his arm from around her shoulders, and she didn't move away from him. He was getting mixed signals from the pair. They were together, but they weren't. They were comfortable with each other, but they weren't a matched set. They were probably even monogamous, but they weren't committed.

"Derek?" came the voice from the desk. Garcia hadn't hung up on them. "Is it real?" she demanded.

"Is what real, Baby Girl?" he asked, watching as the elevator doors closed, blocking the couple from sight.

"Is the relationship real? Between Reid and that…that girl?" There was a mild disgust in her voice that Derek didn't like, not after what he had just seen.

"As real as anything I've seen," Derek replied. He thought a moment. "In some ways, more real than Hotch and Haley were."

"What do you mean?" came the question. That was one of the benchmark relationships in the BAU. That, and JJ and Will-the-Absent.

"They get each other, Pen," he said softly. "Different as night and day, but they get each other."

"Even though…" she stopped, not finishing the question. Derek was glad she'd stopped there.

"Yeah. Maybe even because of her past. His life hasn't been sunshine and kittens, you know."

"I know. Just…she's a hooker, Morgan. How does he know she won't go back to it - that she ever stopped?" The question made Derek sigh softly. Garcia was a lot of things, but she didn't always let go of the past.

"How do we know you stopped hacking without the Bureau's permission?" he asked, knowing the answer.

"But…you know me," she protested.

"We've got to trust Reid, that he knows _her_, sweetheart." His voice was soft. He never thought he'd envy the awkward Spencer Reid, but he did. Just a little, for what he'd found.

"If she breaks his heart, I _will_ hack her until _she_ doesn't even know who she is anymore," Garcia swore.

"And until then?" Derek asked, a small smile on his face. For a perky, happy woman, Garcia had a mean streak. Hurting her babies, a nickname he hated but never objected to in her presence, brought out the worst in her.

"Until then," Garcia sighed. "I'll try to be nicer to her."

"That's my girl," Derek whispered. More than once, he'd wondered if there had ever been a chance for them. More than once, he'd shelved the thought, knowing the risk of catastrophic failure was too great. When it came to risk-reward behaviour, he thought, he had nothing on the kid.

CM=-+CM=-+CM

Spencer walked Adrianna up to his apartment. She wasn't shivering now. She was quiet, but intent on something. Once they were inside, the door shut, he found out what.

Adrianna turned to Spencer the minute the door was locked and pushed him back against it. She lifted up and kissed him, trying to use her body's response to him to purge the monsters from her mind.

She felt him hesitate, then respond, so glad that he wasn't going to argue with her right now. There was probably some major psychological reason not to do exactly what she was doing, but she didn't care. Didn't care, wouldn't care...and now her shirt was gone. They were walking back to his room.

Maybe. Maybe they only made it to the couch. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the feel of his hands on her body and his lips on her lips and getting rid of this feeling that had crawled into her today.

And this wasn't _working_.

She pulled back from him, tears standing in her eyes. One spilled over and down her cheek. They were both breathing hard. Spencer didn't say anything, just brushed the tear away.

The dam broke. The shock, the suppression, the fear - everything came to a head. And she broke down, sobbing into his shoulder as he held her, half naked, on the couch.

It wasn't until well after the tears were gone, when it was dark, that she realized that he'd been playing her. He'd responded, not because he wanted her at that moment, but because she needed to have a physical outlet. So he gave her one.

"You could have said no," she said. He was still awake. They'd just gone to bed a few minutes ago.

"It wouldn't have done any good," he said, lips brushing her hair.

"Even if we'd actually-"

"You weren't going to get that far. The shock from earlier was too deep." He hugged her. "I thought you were going to faint, you went so pale."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I tried to use you."

"I let you use me," Spencer corrected, "until you couldn't go any further. I knew you wouldn't…finish." He could still be so shy about saying the words. It was sweet. "It was all there in your posture, in the way you moved too fast."

"You're saying I don't move fast?" she asked, recalling a few times that they'd not even undressed.

"Not like that," he said. "You take a little longer to warm up." She could feel the smirk against her hair. "Like my car."

She pinched his side.

"Ow!"

"You deserved that one," she said, trying not to laugh. He moved, pushing her onto her side, then her back. When he looked down at her, she asked, "What?"

He didn't say anything, but kissed her. This time, it felt right, not like she was grabbing for a life preserver, but like a warm blanket, wrapping around her. Heating her from head to toe. After a long minute, he lifted his head.

"See? Warming up," he murmured.

"Maybe you have a point," she replied, pulling him back down.

This time, without the desperation driving her, they made it work. Adrianna let Spencer lead, knowing the outcome would be worth it, knowing he could drive her so high…and he'd never let her fall.

When he pressed into her, something soft and sweet slid through her veins. It felt like home.

CM=-+=-+=-+CM

Six days later…

"Hello?" Adrianna spoke into the phone at her desk. She was at work, and there was no such thing as a lull here. She had a paper on the ethics of euthanasia due tomorrow…and the weekend wouldn't leave her alone. She hoped it was Spencer.

"Adrianna, this is SSA Hotchner, from the Behavioral Analysis Unit," the voice on the phone was calm, distant.

"…Hotch?" she asked, blinking in surprise. That was all she could manage. Why would the BAU chief be calling her? And why had she called him by the name Spencer used? She wasn't close to him, not like that.

"Yes, if that makes you more comfortable," he allowed, not pausing at the surprise in her voice. "I understand you confirmed identical incisions on a series of victims on Saturday. Would you mind coming in to look at a few more samples? There is some question about the marks, if they belong in the case."

"I…I told Spence and Morgan - there are better people to confirm, experts. Surgeons. I can call some aspects of the cuts, but the rest? It's better to ask someone with surgery and trauma training." Yes, she was resisting.

She didn't want to go back. Didn't want to see. Wasn't what she saw on a daily basis bad enough? The last emergency arrival…shrapnel too dangerous to remove had been left in a wound fifty years ago, but modern transportation moved it. The metal shards slipped from where they had been held stable by hard, heavy muscle. Age and atrophy started the deterioration of the stability. A flight to see family nearby in Alexandria had finished it. The man had only come in because his grandchild had freaked out about the swelling. A soft palpitation turned into blood everywhere. And the smell of infection was still heavy in the air.

"There is another aspect to the case we need to speak to you about, but it would probably be best to discuss it here, in the office." There was something in that calm voice she didn't like. Something that screamed 'Vegas'. But. Could she say no?

Yes, she could. She could walk away, ignore it all. And one day, the guilt would catch up to her, and it wasn't worth it. A few years of ignorance for a lifetime of guilt? Better to get it over with quick, just like she had when something distasteful was part of a transaction. How many times had she just sucked it up and finished it? She could do it one more time. Just this once.

"My shift is over in about thirty minutes. I won't get there before seven. Isn't that after hours for you?" she asked, looking at the clock on the wall. It was already four in the afternoon. She wouldn't be there until nearly seven. Her paperwork would keep her until after five, then she'd be battling traffic.

"Not at all. We'll take a dinner break and come back around seven. We'll see you then." He paused. "And Adrianna?"

"Yes?" she asked, feeling her vague sense of normalcy start to slide.

"Thank you." He almost sounded like he meant it.

"Yeah," she said. She didn't know who hung up first. The wall blurred in front of her eyes, and it took Nancy asking if she was okay for her to realize how far out she'd been.

"I'm good," she said, flashing a small smile up at the older nurse.

"Bullfeathers," the woman snorted. Wise eyes that had seen too much gave her a long look. "Finish that chart and get on out of here. Somethin's eatin' at you, and don't you dare try to say otherwise. What is it?"

"I can't really say anything," she said, wanting to trust Nancy, but knowing it wouldn't be high on Spencer's list of acceptable reactions. "It has to do with a couple old friends. They…they're in trouble."

Nancy gave her a long look. "You been off your game all week." The older nurse leaned against the desk and faced the corridor. "Tell you what, you can take a week or so off, without pay, but you gotta find a sub to do it. Someone who meets the VA requirements. You know anyone like that?"

Adrianna thought for a minute. "I…might," she said slowly. "She's been out of the field for a while, but she teaches nursing at Georgetown."

"If she'll do it, if she can provide a name for someone who will…it better not take more than three weeks, girl. I can't keep the position for a sub longer than that." It was a warning. If she was gone too long, there wouldn't be a job to come back to. And she liked it here.

"Okay," Adrianna said, softly. "I'll find someone by Friday afternoon." At Nancy's nod, she turned back to the chart and filled out the last information. She walked out to her car a full hour earlier than she expected, but she didn't call Hotch back.

Ten digits and a send button later, Adrianna was talking to her advisor at Georgetown, Felicity Jenner, Capt. (U.S. Army, ret.), RN, MSN, DrNP.

"Nurse Jenner," she said, using her original title. She refused to be called Doctor Jenner, even if she had earned the degree. No one could get a straight answer from her for her reasons, but Adrianna was willing to bet it had no little bit to do with her time working in Army hospitals in Vietnam. It didn't take a profiler to figure out that was what she considered her best work. Or her toughest. Army nurses were a different breed, but there was no debating the quality of her work, or her knowledge.

"Felicity, it's Adrianna, from your Advanced Health Assessment class. I needed to talk to you either this afternoon or tomorrow - if you have time?" Was that the right thing to say? Thankfully, as one of her advisees, Adrianna had been given permission to call her by her first name in non-classroom environments.

"You're not thinking of dropping my class, are you? It is a requirement." The cool voice held a hint of curiosity.

"No. It's personal, and I'd rather not discuss it over the phone," she said. Was that sufficient? She hoped so.

"Mm. I'm here until five-thirty," Jenner said briskly. "If you are here by then, we can discuss it. If you are not here by then, you may buy dinner and we will discuss it."

"Yes, ma'am," Adrianna said. Well, she was definitely curious. Adrianna was not surprised when the line clicked and the call was ended. Nurse Jenner was not known for long farewells.

Adrianna thought about the commute. It wouldn't be too long, since she'd be going in the wrong direction for the rush hour traffic. She was maybe thirty-five minutes from the campus. She had time for another call. She took a breath and started dialing.

"Hello?" came the smooth, calm voice of Jamison.

"Jamison, it's…Juliette. I need to speak to her." She felt sick just speaking the name. "It's about the game." Oh, she should have called earlier, but she thought if she could just put it off, she'd wake up and it would have been a dream. A horrible, horrible dream.

"Is something wrong?" he asked. She could almost see his bulter's trouble-radar picking up signals.

"Just put her on," Adrianna snapped. Seconds later, Mrs. Ibsen's voice was on the line.

"Juliette," she snapped out. "What is it?"

"I've been trying to catch up with some friends. Have you heard from Candy or Pepper?" Adrianna asked. 'Trying to catch' meant couldn't find in the old code. 'Friends' were other prostitutes Mrs. Ibsen took care of.

"Not for months. Candy quit the casino job and moved upstate. Pepper left her position at the club shortly after her. Why?" There was no little curiosity in the question. It didn't matter what positions Mrs. Ibsen used. The important words were 'quit' and 'left'. They were out of the life, and they'd gone voluntarily, no trouble attached.

"Pepper…quit?" Adrianna felt a chill ghosting over her. No. Pepper loved the sex, the games. The men. The life was all hers, and she lived it big. Candy wanted more, though. The house, the kids, the husband…and she'd never get it now.

"I just said that." Now Mrs. Ibsen was irritated. "Tell me."

"I tried calling, but got a weird signal. It was either not in service or out of range. Did they get new numbers?" It was the code for found dead, because 'dead' tended to get attention on phone taps, and it wasn't unheard of for Mrs. Ibsen's phone to have listeners from various agencies tapping in.

"What?" The shock in Mrs. Ibsen's voice said more than Adrianna could have thought. "When?"

"I don't _know_. Look, I have to get going. Would you see if you can find them? And any other old friends? I wanted to plan a get together when I dropped in during Christmas." Adrianna knew it was vague, but the hints were there. "I know I moved, but I miss the action sometimes. It's not as hot here." Another old code, based on the casino culture. Hot meant loose, which meant a payout, but action was not the pleasant side of the industry. Action meant danger. It was one of many ways of calling to check in, of answering how things were without sounding like it was a business call. Each girl worked her own code words, and Adrianna's weren't hard to remember. The business may have carried risks, but this was serious, and girls were dead.

"Of course. Glad to know something is worthwhile in that dreary little state." Mrs. Ibsen sniffed. "Virginia. Ha!" She paused. "Well, I'll get back to you soon." Adrianna heard someone speaking to Mrs. Ibsen, but she couldn't make out what they were saying. "My nephew Carl mentioned going out your way, seeing the sights. Do you remember him?"

"Who could forget Carl?" Adrianna said, forcing a light tone and a laugh. "Let me know when he's coming. He can stay with me," Adrianna offered. A security team was being dispatched to her, Carl in the lead, and he would probably arrive with information. Who better to have for houseguests? Best part: the guys never tried to pick up the girls. Mrs. Ibsen was not big on office romances. Or just screwing co-workers.

"Wonderful, wonderful. Oh, some friends just dropped in. I'll call you when he's on his way. Ciao, darling!"

With that, Adrianna had done what she could to let the Queen and Mrs. Ibsen know. Now she hoped it was enough.

CM=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+CM


	6. Arrangements, of sorts

Once a Hooker

a sequel to the fic **To a Hooker**,

both by TarnishedArmour

Timeline: We haven't gotten there yet; about 3-4 episodes in to season 7. By necessity, this is A/U.

Summary: Adrianna had left hooking behind, moved to a new life in Virginia, and renewed her friendship with Spencer Reid. So why is she giving hooker lessons again? *To a Hooker's sequel.

A/N: POV shifts marked with CM=-+CM=-+CM break.

CM=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+CM

"Come in," the voice said from inside. Felicity never sounded very warm, but she was always welcoming.

"Felicity? It's me," Adrianna said, stepping inside.

"Who else would it be?" Felicity asked dryly, then turned and looked at her squarely. "Now, what is going on?"

"A couple of girls I knew from Las Vegas were found dead a while back, they said something about suspicious circumstances and needing more information about their lives - the kind of things that aren't found on computers. I - I just got the news, and…I need to take some time off work. There were a few things that the investigators needed my help with, but between work and school…" Adrianna let the sentence fade. She hoped this would work.

"There is a great deal you aren't saying," Felicity said. After a long pause and a measuring look, the older nurse continued. "Will you be able to complete the coursework?"

"Of course. I have my books, and I plan to log in to the class site-"

"There is a major test next week. One-third of your grade for the class. Will you be here?" This question was much more abrupt.

"I don't know," Adrianna replied. "I hope so, but I can't guarantee it."

Felicity was quiet for a long minute. Adrianna didn't speak. She knew something about the art of the deal, and talking right now would be a huge mistake.

"Very well. I will give email a video chat link with a mandatory log-in time to you. You will take this exam orally, on a web chat with me. The chat will be the day of the exam, but not during the test. You will need someone to demonstrate the required practices, and some documents will be provided as attachments to the email. You are to have your demonstration partner to print the documents and store them separately, until the time for the examination." She paused. Adrianna nodded. "You will be told your grade immediately upon completion of the interview. I find it only fair to warn you that the pass rate for these examinations is not very good, when I am inclined to give them. Experienced trauma nurses have had great difficulty with these interviews."

"Yes, ma'am, I understand." Adrianna felt dread piling up inside her. Between the murders, the call from Agent Hotchner - she really had to stop thinking of him as Hotch - and the exam from hell, complete with warning label, this was going to be a very bad week.

"Was that all?" Felicity asked.

"Not quite. I work at VA Charlotte Hall." She didn't have to say anything more. There was only one clinic by that name in a fifty-mile radius. "But if I have to leave town, someone will need to sub for me at the clinic-someone VA approved. With modern nursing techniques and the knowledge of how the VA works." Adrianna paused, pretending she didn't know exactly how to ask the next question.

Felicity laughed. "You're good, girl, I'll give you that. Maybe an old Army nurse will be an acceptable replacement. Besides, I only have night classes right now, and my rotation at University Hospital is over for the moment. Treesa is taking the newest batch of RN students through, so I'm at loose ends, on sabbatical, practically. Let your supervisor know I'll be in for you." She tipped her head to the side. "I'll join you tomorrow afternoon, to get the layout and procedures down."

Adrianna gave Felicity a wry smile. "You knew that was coming, didn't you?"

"Of course. Begging off classes is one thing, but begging off work? Pish." The sound was dismissive. "You wouldn't be a nurse if you didn't want the work."

"True enough, I suppose," Adrianna murmured. "I have to tell you, though, that if this takes longer than three weeks, I won't have a position at the clinic anymore. So, you may be there more than just a little while."

Felicity smiled. "My dear, I wouldn't mind it in the least."

At close to seventy, Felicity was still going strong. She'd continue teaching and nursing until she simply couldn't do it anymore. Adrianna could understand that, respect it. In many ways, it was a lot like Spencer and the FBI. He may work on a few things personally, but his heart was in the BAU, and he'd do it until he just couldn't take it anymore.

Nursing, she decided, walking out to her car, was a lot like hooking. Once you were in the life, it was damn near impossible to see the way out. Like hooking, a lot of nurses didn't want out, either. It was just part of them.

CM=-+=-+=-+CM

Adrianna walked in to the BAU area again, escorted by a polite young agent with a fresh face and shy smile. She was still in her scrubs, stethoscope around her neck - oh, had she done that again? She was so used to it, she completely forgot about it. She pulled it from around her neck and slipped it into her purse. Not the best place, but it would do.

"Ms. O'Shaughnessy," the quiet voice came from her left. It was Dave Rossi, author and agent and skeptic. "This way, please."

Adrianna followed him up the stairs and into the round table room. She thought about calling Spencer 'Sir Knight' the next time they were alone together, but decided he'd already worked through all of those allusions. On the other hand, letting him know he wasn't the only one that saw them might be something he needed to hear. This time, the room was full. Hotchner was standing next to a blonde girl who looked too young to be in the BAU. Morgan was sitting next to Spencer, Rossi took a seat across from him, and Garcia was fiddling with something at the large screen display.

When Spencer looked up at her, he tipped his head to the seat next to him. Adrianna gave him a tight smile and walked over, putting her bag next to the chair as she sat.

"You okay?" Spencer murmured, the conversations around them leaving enough room for a quick check. She shook her head.

"Not really, but neither are they." The way she glanced at the files in the center of the table said it all. She hesitated, then looked away. It wasn't time to tell him - them - yet, that Pepper was also retired. "So, what do you need me for?" she asked, not realizing the lull had put the beginning of her question into the customary waiting silence.

"Garcia," Hotch said. As Garcia pushed buttons on a remote, pictures populated the screen. "This is why. Morgan and Reid have been working with Garcia, combing through the files on the FBI and law enforcement databases. They have found thirty-one similar crimes, all with the same signatures. In seven instances, partial newspaper classified ads have been found. In the majority of the remaining twenty-four, a paper-like substance has been found, but there was no way to identify what had been written on it, if anything. The patter of incisions was nearly identical in each case, both the pattern and the depth - but there are another eight files that were undetermined. We would like you to look at close-ups of those eight incisions, as well as a control photograph, and tell us, in your opinion, if these are part of the pattern."

"Okay," Adrianna said. Since they were showing only the wound, it would be easier. Maybe.

The first picture came up on screen. Adrianna studied it carefully, shook her head. "No. That's not right. It's too low, more over the liver - too far to the left." The next three were rejected, all in the wrong places with the wrong lengths to the cuts, one with the wrong angles to the cuts. Then came the first match.

"There. That one," she said, voice shaking. She cleared her throat. "The incisions are correct, the location is correct…this one matches." Her voice was more certain after clearing her throat. She still felt weak. That picture moved off to a different file, and a quick 'file transfer' box popped up on the screen, pulling the rest of the file with it into the BAU reference files.

The rest of the pictures were rejected, but there was something about the one that matched.

"Garcia?" she said. "Can you pull up the match again? Zoom out a little? There's something…something about it…" She shook her head, not able to say what she had seen, or thought she'd seen.

"Sure." A second later, the cut became a little smaller in proportion, but the area shown was still only the abdomen, from below the breast to the curve of the hip. And on that hip...

"Oh, my God!" Adrianna said, feeling her face lose color. "That's Phoenix!"

"Who?" Morgan asked as Spencer took Adrianna's hand.

"There, that pattern of scars on her hip - it's not a random injury. It's part of her legend, of her body mod."

"Body modification?" Rossi asked. "What do you mean?"

"Phoenix was a switch, deep into the BDSM set." Blank looks greeted her. "She could be dominant or submissive, whichever she needed to be. She was part of the life - a prostitute, but she specialized in the whips and chains set. She left the life, about ten years ago, to stay with her Master. That," she pointed to cuts, "was his artwork. There's a matching set on her other hip. He renamed her Phoenix, after the legend of the bird that rises from its own ashes. She was well-known to the girls, even if she didn't live the life anymore." Adrianna knew she had to tell them now. "Pepper, the girl from Vegas, had also quit. They weren't in the life anymore. They were ordinary citizens."

This information caused a stir. Several ideas were batted around, but Adrianna didn't listen. She couldn't tear her eyes from the screen. She'd _liked_ Phoenix. When she was new, Phoenix had been a veteran. Phoenix had taught her a lot about how to get her way in the bedroom, while convincing the john he wanted it that way. She'd also shown her how to play the rougher games safely, for the select few who liked to play the game. Those nights were rare, but they paid very well. Adrianna really didn't like the rough stuff. The bondage she didn't mind much, and the subservience had its place and time, but she did not enjoy discipline play at all. That had been nixed completely. One hint, and she was gone. Ironically, one of the more meek johns had beaten her badly enough to end up in the hospital for a week. Phoenix had lived for the pleasure-pain mix, but Adrianna couldn't make that leap, not within her own head. It occurred to her that such knowledge should send her gibbering in the other direction, but she'd lived too much. She may have been innocent at first, but innocent was not a good word for Adrianna anymore.

It was at a sponsored event that Phoenix had been born. She had found her Master, and no one doubted that it was right. They had fit together like hand and glove, like gears meshing perfectly in a precision machine - like Master and servant. She hadn't seen the meeting, but she had been one of the few invited to witness Phoenix's collaring. She had been there while Master Thorn had etched his sign into her flesh, had kissed Phoenix as she cried from the pain, a huge smlie visible through the tears. Her Master had covered the scars of her old life - after enough time, even the best dominants will leave welts - with his own marks, and Phoenix returned to a happy, monogamous, ultimately married-with-children life. It hurt to see that mythical bird so still. She should be burning now, rising from her own ashes. Never again.

Adrianna didn't realize she was crying until Garcia hugged her.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," the normally slightly hostile woman whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Adrianna nodded, then put her head down on the table and cried. She felt Spencer's hand on her back, but he didn't try to get her to stop.

She'd have to remember to thank him for that.

CM=-+=-+=-+CM

Several minutes later, Garcia walked with her to the ladies' room, talking softly about seeing a friend that way. She waited while Adrianna washed her face and regained her composure.

"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath. "Let's go."

"You don't have to go back in there," Garcia said, eyes soft and kind, taking her hand. Behind her glasses, tears were standing in her eyes. Maybe Garcia didn't like her much, but she was a kind soul. Adrianna squeezed her hand.

"Yeah," Adrianna replied, "I do. There's something else that Hotch - Agent Hotchner - needs, but he hasn't told me what it is yet." Adrianna's next words were interrupted by her phone ringing. She checked the caller I.D. "I need to take this." Garcia nodded, held open the door. Adrianna started walking to the bullpen, answering the phone as she walked.

"SIX!" Mrs. Ibsen shouted over the phone. "SIX! And we haven't finished looking yet!"

"Do you know who?" Adrianna asked.

"Of course, you idiot!" came the indignant response. Adrianna winced. She should have known the answer to that - and that Mrs. Ibsen woud never give names over the phone. Carl wasn't even the actual name of the man who was coming. "I'm sending Carl to you _tonight_. He'll have the files. If any more are missing discovered, you'll have that, too. You still have that friend?"

"I'm with him now, at his office," Adrianna replied, knowing exactly who Mrs. Ibsen was talking about. She'd told the truth about Spencer's job with the FBI.

"Tell him that more information is coming. And don't screw around about it!"

Adrianna winced as the line cracked and went dead. She walked quickly back up to the room. She burst in through the door, catching everyone's attention.

"I just got a call from a friend in Vegas. Six other girls she knew about have disappeared. I don't know who, or from where, but she's sending the information to me - and through me to you."

"Six former prostitutes of your acquaintance?" Rossi asked, giving Hotch a sidelong look.

"No, six prostitutes she knew. I don't know everyone in Vegas," Adrianna added dryly. "Just some of the more interesting people."

"When we get that information, we'll add it to the file." Hotch quickly gave his decision. "We can't do anything with it tonight. Adrianna, we have an idea about catching this man, but we'll need your help."

"With what? What can I possibly do-" she stopped cold. "No. Hell, no. I'm _not_ going back-"

"That's not what I meant. You aren't an agent. To put you into place would be too dangerous." He looked over at Seaver. There had been no small discussion while she was in the restroom, and possibly before that, too. What was discussed, well, she thought she'd figured that out."We have someone willing to go undercover to get the information, once we get a location and find the exact pattern for this profile. But she'll need some help."

Adrianna stared at him. "You're going to put an agent…into the life? And you want me to…help?" Her first impression was correct. Hotch was a very dangerous man. "How?"

"I need to learn how to be a hooker," Seaver said, looking straight at her. "Since you're the expert, I'll need lessons. From you."

Adrianna stared at her for a long minute. She was so fresh-faced, and those eyes…could she get any more naïve? A long minute passed while Adrianna studied the agents around her. Everyone was looking at her expectantly. Even Spencer had something in his expression that she not only couldn't read, but didn't really like.

"Are you all nuts?" she finally asked.

CM=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+CM


	7. Whoring 101

Once a Hooker

a sequel to the fic **To a Hooker**,

both by TarnishedArmour

Timeline: Season 7. By necessity, this is A/U.

Summary: Adrianna had left hooking behind, moved to a new life in Virginia, and renewed her friendship with Spencer Reid. So why is she giving hooker lessons again? *To a Hooker's sequel.

A/N: POV shifts marked with CM=-+CM=-+CM break.

CM=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+CM

The room erupted with vehement denials of insanity - or that's what Adrianna thought they were. Even Spencer looked like he objected to the question. Finally, Hotch held up a hand.

"People," he said, firmly, a little too loud. "I'm certain Adrianna will explain that question, if she is given a moment."

_Nice try, Hotch,_ Adrianna thought, _but I was in sales, too._

"Only if you have a week to spare," she replied sweetly. "A demonstration is more…effective in this case."

Morgan laughed. "What, showing off mad skills?" He leaned back in his chair with a 'bring it on' look.

Adrianna gave him a slow smile, dropped her eyes. Not for the first time did she experience the nearly overwhelming desire to punch someone. She hid it well.

"Well, no." She walked over to him, stood just out of arms reach. "But you could help with the demonstration." She paused. "If you think you can handle it," she added, shrugging the words off, like the demonstration was nothing. She didn't look at Spencer. She saw Morgan's eyes flash over to the younger agent, then back. Yes, he was the type to accept a challenge. Morgan stood. Men were _so_ easy sometimes. And Morgan wasn't exactly complex.

"Rossi?" she asked, turning and tipping her head to the side. "Would you mind?"

Rossi gave her a long look, then walked over to stand with Morgan. He hadn't said anything, so whatever she was doing - and Adrianna knew what she was doing - he was willing to go along, if only for a little while.

"Spencer? Hotch?" she added, then turned to Garcia. "Garcia?"

Spencer seemed to know something, but she'd spoken with him before about various aspects of the life, in general terms. Hotch seemed wary, but that was good. He should be. Garcia just looked confused.

"Me?" she asked, blinking several times. "Why do you need me?"

"What? You think only men use the services of a hooker?" Adrianna asked, raising her eyebrows in mock surprise. She didn't add that was a pitifully naive view of the world. With this group, she didn't have to.

Garcia blinked and walked over to join the men, now standing more or less in a row.

"Now," Adrianna asked, turning to Seaver, "which one do you approach? Don't worry about how for a moment, just which one."

Seaver looked at the line-up for a minute, then shrugged. "Morgan," she answered. She sounded very certain.

"Not even close. Morgan doesn't need to purchase a hot cunt." The word got a definite response from everyone there. Even Spencer. "He has to fend them off with a stick." She paused. "And because of that, he's not nearly as good as he thinks he is." She frowned. "Unless…Morgan, are you gay?"

Spencer started to snicker, turned it into a cough quickly.

"What? No!" he said, eyes widening, then narrowing.

"Oh. Just wondering. I'm usually pretty good at knowing who plays for what team, but I was getting mixed vibes." She turned back to Seaver. "If he were gay, he'd be better in bed, but it wouldn't matter to you. You don't bother with the Morgans in the room, not even when they're drunk. They get plenty of drunk pity sex, so," she shrugged. "Now, which one?"

"I don't know," Seaver said, now a less certain. "Reid?"

Adrianna snorted. "No. You couldn't handle the approach. Hell, _I_ couldn't handle the approach," she admitted. Seaver couldn't handle what came after that either - Adrianna could, barely - but it was better to leave certain things out of the office. For now. "You have three left. Which one?"

"Why not Reid?" Morgan asked, curious.

Adrianna looked at the man. Then at Spencer. Then back. She smiled. Maybe it would do Morgan some good to begin to doubt his prowess with the opposite sex.

"Consider the following: IQ of 187, eidetic memory, scientific leanings in observation and personality - you _are_ a Ph.D. in three sciences, Spence, so hush." Spencer closed his mouth and waited patiently. "Add to that an extensive knowledge of anatomy and physiology, a specific understanding of how to study both written materials and experimental data, a wealth of applicable illustrated materials produced over centuries and across cultures, incredible amounts of patience, and the hands of a magician." She paused. "Do you need a demonstration, or is that enough to start you heading in the right direction?"

Hotch continued watching Adrianna and Seaver, eyes narrowed. The other three looked at Spencer. He looked back, smirked a bit, and quirked an eyebrow at them. Only Rossi managed not to look shocked. He looked more entertained than anything, but that seemed to be his default expression.

"So…doesn't that mean he's the better choice?" Seaver asked, confused.

"It means stay with what you can handle," Adrianna said. "The geeky ones - no offense, Spence - "

"None taken," he said easily. He was still smirking. Well, he had a right to.

" - let's just say they're not as easy to deal with as you'd think, if you manage to get the approach correct. Sure, some are pretty straightforward, desperate guys who want a suck or a fuck, but it's better not to count on it." She moved along. "Now, which one? You have three left."

"I…don't know," Seaver said. She was starting to look a little dazed. Adrianna wasn't certain if it was the language she was using or the idea that Reid was incredibly good in bed - and Adrianna was one to know.

"Fine, I'll help you," Adrianna sighed. "Garcia isn't interested in women, not as lovers, not even as a curiosity. Maybe she's entertained the thought of sticky fingers and loving tongues, but she's much more interested in cock. Don't waste time trying to pick her up. Unless it's to go shoe shopping, in which case, kiss last night's wages goodbye. The woman _knows_ shoes." A look at Garcia's current choice prompted Adrianna to add, "And we definitely have to go shopping, Garcia. Great heels."

"Thanks...s-sure," Garcia managed to squeak, a little dazed. Adrianna wasn't sure about what, but she doubted it was shoes. Surely it wasn't what she'd said about Spencer? If it was, well, some people really needed to get out more. Or date geeks.

"Hotch…is either a complete Puritan, or he's into seriously freaky stuff - the kind that is not necessarily healthy. Avoid him. He's…" Adrianna took a minute, continued her assessment. She didn't want to say as much about him, not when he was close enough to reach her. She was still getting that warning vibe from him. It wouldn't be easy, but if what she suspected were true, he could be pushed too far, and she didn't want to be there when it happened. "He's completely distant, won't bite. Figuratively speaking. Literally, who knows?"

"That leaves…Rossi?" Seaver looked over at Adrianna like she was nuts. Rossi merely raised his eyebrows, a challenge of sorts.

"Exactly. From this group, which is about what you'd find at a bar or in a casino, less a few more unusual characters, Rossi is the one you'd approach. They silver in his hair? He's older, so he knows what he's doing - or he should. He has learned patience. Take a look at his clothes. Expensive, understated, and slightly hedonistic," she looked up, "Italian leather?"

"What else?" he asked, a slight smirk on his face. Adrianna walked over to him, lifted one of his hands, turned it palm up.

"Mm. More than slightly hedonistic, but kept under wraps. Add to that the hands, a little rough, so he's not too vain, but not so rough they're not sensitive." She drew her nails lightly over the palm. His fingers twitched in response. "Plenty sensitive. The fact that he's got money, fame, and probably at least two ex-wives, means he knows women. The exes, well, they're probably more to do with personality clashes or ego, but the sex wasn't what ran them off. If anything, the fact he knew what to do kept the marriages going longer than they would have without it. He's also a horny bastard who appreciates women in many, many ways - some of them probably still banned in Boston. There's something keeps him from commitment, though, and he's not looking for forever. He doesn't have to purchase, but he'd prefer not to have a woman clinging to him." Adrianna shrugged, looking Rossi in the eye. "Of the available group, he's definitely the one who'd say yes to your sweet little body, but the morning wouldn't be much fun if you wanted more than one hell of a ride." The slight smile he gave her, the lift of one eyebrow - damn, he still found her entertaining. If she were in the game...they'd be heading to her hotel room right now. She returned the little smile. He lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss along the back.

"Ah, bella," he murmured. "You know me so well."

She laughed, dropped Rossi's hand, turned back to Seaver and smiled sweetly.

"Now, strip."

"That's enough," Hotch said, stepping forward. He was not happy. "Sexual profiles are not part of the BAU, except as they pertain to victimology. I allowed leeway for that much, but asking Agent Seaver to-to remove her clothing," the man just couldn't say it, "is too much."

Adrianna laughed. Even she heard the cynicism in it. The man was even trying to use his height and alpha status to intimidate her. Maybe she _could_ get him to snap, but it wouldn't be now, tonight. Her lip curled, she couldn't keep the contempt from her voice.

"Too much?" Adrianna stepped forward, meeting Hotch halfway. "Too much? You want to set her up as a hooker who doesn't put out? Do you know what that's called, Hotch? A con. Do you know what happens to the girls that get a rep as a con? The lucky ones end up hurt. The unlucky ones, well, no one _really_ misses them. Another burial, another dead whore, so what? And if she's stupid enough to say she's FBI, to carry a badge and a gun?" Adrianna stepped forward, now looking almost straight up at Hotch, not giving an inch. "Is she so bad at her job that you want her dead?"

Hotch's eyes grew darker, more dangerous.

"Go ahead. Hit me," she whispered. "You wouldn't be the first. You might even like it. What then? Throw me down, hurt me? Maybe even get your own back?" she reached out and gripped his testicles. "I can make it good that way, too. No? Don't want the bitch to enjoy it?" She took a step forward, forcing him to step back or invite a full-body press. She could see the pulse in his neck speeding up. Felt his hands grip her upper arms. They were touching, chest to knee now. "Been there, too. It's not easy, knowing rape can't be reported...if you're paid."

At that, Hotch stepped back, releasing her. She let him go. He turned and walked around the table, leaving her to face the group. No one spoke. She didn't dare look at Spencer. She knew he would be calm, but his eyes - too compassionate. It was the worst thing about him. He knew, and he could project that he knew. The others, they did the same work, they were kind...but those sweet, wounded eyes... No. She couldn't look at him, so she scanned everyone else.

A minute later she walked over to Seaver. "If she can't strip down here, in the company of friends, how will she handle it when a john does this?"

Adrianna stepped in behind the young woman and groped her, one arm wrapped around her waist with her hand not gently holding her between the legs, the other massaging her breast. Seaver didn't move, didn't breathe. Morgan, Rossi, even Garcia took a step forward. There was an ugly feel to the room now, one that she knew, oh, too well. And she knew the origin. Adrianna snorted. The girl was terrified. She shoved the younger woman forward, turned back to Hotch. She didn't watch Seaver stumble, catch herself on the table. She didn't see Garcia wrap her arm around the young blonde, but it was inevitable.

"You have no idea what it's like. You can empathize, you can profile, but you can't make the jump to what it is to _be_, not with this." The group was watching her now, very carefully. She could feel it. "Not when you're this protective, here, where she's safe. When she's alone, in a room, with a john more interested in making her hurt than fucking? She'll panic, Morgan will charge for the door, Hotch a step behind. And none of you will keep cover for more than a few hours."

"We've been in dangerous positions before," Morgan objected. "People have gotten hurt," he glanced at Spencer and Hotch, then Garcia. He was close to Seaver, to keep Adrianna away, maybe. Or maybe just to reassure the baby Fed.

"Really? You've been hurt while selling the one thing Momma told you not to let any one get without a ring? After sizing up the rooms, looking for a good mark? Figuring out who's the least likely to beat the hell out of you when you're done? _Yes_, that includes the high-end girls, like me. Like what you wanted Seaver to be." She picked up her bag and walked to the door.

"When you have a fucking clue, call me. Until then, go to hell." She didn't look at them as she walked out, feet carrying her quickly to her car.

Where had that come from? She knew she hated her past, but that much rage? To want to hurt them, even Spencer? That just wasn't her. Was it?

The question kept her mind occupied, kept her from thinking about what hadn't happened when she left.

Even after she got home, she didn't know if she was glad that Spencer didn't follow her or not.

CM=-+CM=-+CM

Morgan fumed. Hotch stewed. Rossi considered. Garcia scampered back to her lair. Seaver tried not to show how upset she was.

Spencer, though, wasn't sure what he thought. Or felt.

The woman that had walked around the room just now, the one who had left so quickly, wasn't the woman who'd laughed about Star Trek Voyager aliens with him, or the one who'd shared his bed with more and more frequency over the past six months.

That woman must have been Juliette. It was strange to give another name to the face and body he had come to know so well, but he'd never really known Juliette. As sweet as Adrianna was, the working persona was harsh. No, hardened.

The theory that the memories had been talking was potentially valid, but there was something else to that little display.

For lack of a better word, he called it fear.

Spencer stared at the door for a long minute. He didn't follow her.

Better to let her cool off. Tomorrow was Friday. He'd take a few days leave, go see her and maybe get her to explain what she was thinking. He'd take a few days because it would take time to get her to open up, to explain why she'd been so hostile, so aggressive.

If she was thinking at all.

"So, Pretty Boy," Morgan said, breaking into Reid's thoughts, "you just gonna let her walk out like that?"

"Morgan," Hotch began. Spencer could see the residual temper in the other men's eyes. Hotch would supress it, but Morgan was confrontational by nature, and Reid was used to it. He held up a hand to let Hotch know he wasn't upset.

"Yes." Spencer replied, perfectly calm.

"What, you got a compliment, so it's okay to tear into us like that?" Now that was just a little mean.

Reid clenched his jaw once, then turned and faced his friend and coworker head-on. Voice calm, he explained reality the group, focusing his attention on Morgan.

"I warned you that asking her to get involved with the investigation any further than what she'd done was a mistake. You were given several good reasons to leave her out of the rest of the potential operation - we don't even know if the sting Hotch and Rossi came up with will _work_, given the new information about some of the victims leaving the sex trades. Since you chose to ignore the information I gave you -" Reid was stopped there.

"By her boyfriend?" Rossi added coolly. He hadn't flinched when Adrianna had started in on him, and Reid found that at least a little intriguing. Then again, if anyone on the team knew who and what he was by now, it was Rossi.

"By someone who has known her longer and had a great deal more time to profile her," Reid countered. He couldn't help the wry smile. "I-I didn't even notice I was doing it. She probably did the same thing, profiling you as marks, breaking down individual proclivities based upon what she'd seen of you, without even thinking about it."

"So you profile your girlfriend?" Morgan asked, trying to make Reid admit there was more to his consistent refusal to ask Adrianna to give Seaver hooker lessons.

"She's not my girlfriend, Morgan," Reid sighed. "We're friends, sometimes lovers. No promises, no commitments, nothing like it. But we talk."

"About the team?" Hotch asked, voice sharp. The last time Reid had given out details, people had been hurt.

"No. About her life, mine, some vague bits here and there about you, but nothing more than what she could see last Saturday. In a lot of ways, you gave her more information yourselves. We don't talk about the BAU, victims, patients, or nursing." Reid ran a hand through his hair. "Look, she isn't going to go back to the life. She's not going to make the case harder. Maybe, if-if the approach can be made without putting Seaver into the field as a hooker, she'll help."

"We have interviews, statistics, information out the ears about these kinds of women," Rossi offered. "It may be that Adrianna is not needed, at least in the way we initially proposed." Trust Rossi to try and play peacemaker. He wasn't as good at it as Gideon, and that was probably a good thing. Reid knew he had given in a bit too much to Gideon, but who else had there been to turn to? Hotch? The thought alone almost got him to roll his eyes.

"But she is bringing in more information about the victims, things that Garcia couldn't dig up," Reid added. Garcia nodded.

"It's true. These women, they were off the grid for a long time. There was no indication that any of them were hookers, not in Nevada, or anywhere else. The tax returns I have could be explained by a good night at the tables and a really good investment portfolio." Someone had called Garcia on the phone, and he hadn't tracked who. Damn. "And the one she called Phoenix? All we have is the last ten years as Mrs. Dominic Frazer, a wealthy man's housewife. Before that, we got nada."

"Six others," Reid pressed the point. "She got news about six others, and more maybe. Just keeping her near to help with victimology will be huge." He paused. "Hotch, asking her to go back…it's like asking Morgan to go back to the youth center." Reid was looking down but he knew that would get a sharp look from Morgan. He wasn't after that. He wanted Hotch's undivided attention. Reid looked up then. "Or asking me to go back to Marshall." His voice had gotten even softer at that.

Hotch looked him in the eyes at that. They didn't have to explain to each other what that admission alone had cost Reid.

"Or asking you and Jack to move back into the house where Haley was shot."

For the first time, Reid saw Hotch blink. So much had happened. Too much, in that house. At Marshall. At the youth center. The silence was deafening. Finally, Hotch spoke.

"All right. We'll shelve the idea of Seaver going undercover. For now," he added. Seaver nodded, gratefully. Reid didn't smile. She was too green. Prentiss, now she could have done it - and that thought didn't hurt as much as he'd expected. Even JJ probably could have managed not to flinch at turning tricks for a while - he didn't like that phrase any more in his head than he had when Adrianna had written it in a letter. But then, Prentiss and JJ were the exceptions. Seaver, well, she was Seaver. Pretty, but young. Had he ever been that young?

Probably.

Definitely.

Actually, he'd been younger and even more green, more prone to disaster. He slipped his hand into his pocket. The heavy coin was the one-year coin, but it was more like five now.

"Reid," Hotch hadn't paused, "make sure that Ms. O'Shaughnessy," not a good sign, that formal reference, "is willing to help us, even if it's not with…undercover work. We still need that information from her contact in Vegas." Reid nodded, zoning out as he doled out work for Garcia, Morgan, Rossi, and Seaver.

No, it was best that he hadn't gone after Adrianna. The group seemed done with the idea that Adrianna had somehow profiled them, but he knew that it wasn't over. This was the first skirmish of many. Thankfully, it was late enough that they could leave for home without much conversation.

Now all he had to do was talk with her, get her to admit what was bothering her, and try to convince her to give hooker lessons, if they were needed.

He couldn't ask her to go back.

And he really needed to call his sponsor when he got home.

CM=-+CM=-+CM

Adrianna startled awake at three a.m. to the sound of her doorbell.

She shuddered, not certain if it was Carl outside, or if the sick bastard killing off former whores was there, waiting for her.

There was only one way to find out.

CM=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+CM  
>AN: Please review. Is this worth continuing, or should I shelve it?


	8. Life Goes On

Once a Hooker

a sequel to the fic **To a Hooker**,

both by TarnishedArmour

Timeline: Season 7. By necessity, this is A/U.

Summary: Adrianna had left hooking behind, moved to a new life in Virginia, and renewed her friendship with Spencer Reid. So why is she giving hooker lessons again? *To a Hooker's sequel.

A/N: POV shifts marked with CM=-+CM=-+CM break.

CM=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+CM

Adrianna slowly peeked through window at her front stoop. Carl. Thank God. Her hands fumbled as she opened the door to let him in.

"Adia," he said, not smiling. He was carrying a duffel bag and a briefcase. He'd flown from private airfield to private airfield on a private flight, so he was armed. Carl was always armed. Even without weapons, Carl was armed.

"Carl," she replied, closing the door behind him. "What's in the briefcase?"

"Information for your friend," he said, putting it by the door. "You'll take it to him tomorrow?"

"Of course." Adrianna looked around. "I was expecting three of you," she admitted.

"Ibby's stretched thin. She and the Queen are using all available personnel to handle security for the girls, and contact those who left the business." He looked around the apartment. She thought it was light and airy. He had a different opinion. "Too open, girl. What were you thinking?" He grabbed her empty hand. "And where's your piece?"

Adrianna tugged her arm, but he held fast.

"It's…in the gun locker," she admitted.

"Dammit!" Carl yanked her arm, making her stumble into him. "And you haven't kept up your self defense training, have you?" When she shook her head, she couldn't keep the tremors away. He shifted his grip, held her then.

"Carl! It's three a.m.!" she whined. "Of course I'm not ready!"

"Dammit, Adia," he signed. "How many times do I have to tell you. There is no _off_ in personal security!" Adrianna's shoulders drooped. What did it matter if she was on or off?

"He got Phoenix," she managed. "And Candy, and Pepper." She could feel the tears starting again, and she didn't want to cry, but she couldn't stop it. "But he got _Phoenix_!"

"I know, kid," he whispered, changing his grip to start rubbing her back, pulling her in to let her cry on his shoulder. "I know." They stood like that for a long time while Adrianna tried to calm down again. "Got a spare room?" Carl asked when she pulled back and wiped at her eyes.

Adrianna shook her head, sniffing. "Just my room, and the couch."

Carl gave her a long look. "Lead the way," he said, gruffly. She looked down and away. "What?"

"I…don't think - "

"That's right. You don't think. Adia, remember the last time you were hurt?" At her nod, he continued. "What happened, hm?"

"Eliot stayed with me," she admitted. It had been five years ago, but she remembered how good it felt to be safe. Even if it had been an illusion.

"Did he stay on the couch?"

"No."

"Did he try anything with you?"

"No."

"What did he do?"

"Made sure I had what I needed to heal, woke me up when the nightmares started, held me when I was too scared to relax." Her voice was soft.

"You think I'm going to do anything different?" he demanded. "You're hurt, girl. Maybe not physically, but you're hurt."

Adrianna nodded, turned, and started walking back to her room. She knew Carl had been watching the shadows, the windows, the exits. Of course he had. It was his job. She was his assignment, for tonight, anyway. Mrs. Ibsen didn't let go of someone so high in the security services easily. He wouldn't be able to stay.

Adrianna pulled off her robe, revealing a completely unsexy t-shirt that was at least six sizes too large and had seen many, many better days. She slid under the covers, turned away from Carl.

She remembered the last time she'd been hurt, the way Eliot had held her so very carefully, like she might break. She remembered the pain of broken ribs, the bruises on her face, bone deep. The way the dentist had put her tooth back in place, when it fell out. When the tooth wouldn't stay, a kind of permanent bridge had been put in place. Thankfully, it had been a molar, easy to hide. She remembered Eliot wrapping the cast on her arm, making sure it was water-tight so she could bathe. He'd stayed with her for three weeks, a week longer than she'd needed the help, just to make sure she was okay.

Carl had trained Eliot, and Carl had done the same for her, too. But this was different. She was out of the life. She wasn't physically wounded. She didn't need someone to make sure she got medication and ice and heat when it was time for them.

And then there was Spencer.

Who was she kidding? If he saw her again, he'd probably walk the other way. Could she blame him? Maybe. Then again, it was easy to give away blame, harder to take it on herself. But she was an expert at that, too.

She felt the bed dip, felt the heat of the man beside her. Felt him turn over, wrap his arm around her waist, pull her back to him. No shirt, just boxers. Classic Carl.

"Sleep," he whispered to her, his breath warm on her ear. "I'll keep watch."

She didn't know if it was the warmth of the man or the faith she had in Mrs. Ibsen's security, but her eyes slid shut, and she slept without dreams.

CM=-+=-+=-+CM

"There you are," Nancy's voice was very familiar, and this time pleasantly surprised.

"I didn't do it," Adrianna said, putting up her hands in mock surrender. The day had been tough, seeing the same kinds of people, keeping up appearances. But she was good at faking it. So she put on the smile, the light touch, the reassuring voice, and the day was going as most days did. Busily.

Nancy laughed, rich and warm. "Of course you did, but I'll forgive you." The nurse leaned over and whispered, "Girl, you never told me you got _Jenner_ to sub for you! How did you manage that?"

"I asked nicely," Adrianna said, feeling a pang at that. She had asked nicely. It was later in the day that she'd completely screwed up. Maybe. Or maybe she'd done what was needed…and that train of thought wasn't good. Not now. "And I'm going to pay for it, too. I'm probably going to miss a major exam in her class, so I'll be interviewed instead…and those results are apparently not very good."

"A Jenner interview?" Nancy's eyebrows were somewhere around her hairline now. Nancy glanced over her shoulder, then whispered, "Girl, I do not want to know what you did to deserve that. I know a woman, a few years ago, she quit nursing after one of Jenner's interviews. She's an internal accounts auditor at a Fortune 500 company now, says it's less stressful."

"You're not helping," Adrianna hissed back. "Nurse Jenner." It was as much of a warning as anyone got with Jenner.

"Good afternoon, ladies," Jenner replied. "So, Adrianna, are you ready?"

"Yes, ma'am," Adrianna replied, picking up the chart she had been filling out. "It's a little slower today than I expected," meaning the waiting room wasn't standing room only, and the wait was only about two hours, not four, "so this will work. Nancy, if you don't mind me taking my break now?"

"Of course. Good to see you, Nurse Jenner," Nancy was beaming.

Jenner chuckled. "The last time a charge nurse said that," she replied dryly, "I was politely asked to leave about three hours later."

Nancy laughed softly. "Oh, I think I can take it." She paused. "Army paid for my training. I went green-to-gold, oh, too many years ago. I was in the Gulf the first time around."

Jenner nodded. That little tidbit explained a lot about Nancy. "Good. I can tell you run a tight ship."

Nancy nodded. Adrianna managed not to laugh out loud. Tight ship? This was the only German-Swiss black Southerner that Adrianna had ever met. Precision, discipline, absolute discretion, and the attitude to pull it off with panache and send the patients off comforted, smiling, and completely confident they would get better. In reality, the woman was terrifying. It was rumored that even the building was scared of Nancy. Hell, the doctors and PAs here obeyed her.

"Keeps things running right. Adrianna, you've got fifteen minutes. Then it's back to work." Nancy tipped her head to the side. "I think we'll take another ten minutes off the wait shortly after you're done. If you feel like jumping right in, Jenner?"

"Call me Felicity, Nancy," Jenner replied, allowing another Army nurse the courtesy of first names. "We'll talk later."

"We certainly will. Jake! You've got fifteen minutes to set up the storeroom for Nurse Jenner. Don't waste time starin' at me, boy! Git!" Jake, an LPN who was working on his RN courses, jumped and started for the storeroom.

Jenner turned to Adrianna. With a smile, Adrianna started showing Nurse Jenner around the clinic. In fifteen minutes, Jenner had the layout and was ready to get started.

"All right," she said, pulling off her sweater and revealing the traditional white dress and cap. "Good organization, good work-station habits, and I like the paperwork requirements Nancy has set up. There's enough time to finish charting, and she's cut the idiotic bureaucracy to the minimum required without sacrificing thoroughness. Shall I start pulling charts?"

"Sure thing. Jake's expanded to an extra room, but we'll but the quick trips in there - the immunizations, things like that."

With a nod, Jenner picked up a waiting chart, checked the name, and walked to the door.

Somehow, Adrianna was not in the least surprised. She picked up the next waiting chart and followed Jenner to the door.

CM=-+=-+=-+CM

"Were you expecting company?" Carl asked, adding three more files to the briefcase. Mrs. Ibsen was now extremely upset, and if something wasn't done quickly, it was entirely likely that someone was going to get hurt.

"No," Adrianna replied. "I've got a couple weeks off, but I was going to work on these. Why?" She put down the file she'd been going over, looked up at Carl. No few names were familiar to her, but so many of these girls had left the trade ten to fifteen years ago that they were only names - if that.

"'Cause an old blue Volvo just pulled up outside, and I wanted to know if it belonged here." He slipped his weapon from its shoulder holster, stood by the door.

"No, Carl, it's probably Spencer. My friend." If he was still willing to say he was a friend. It was entirely possible that this was a kiss-off, without the kiss.

"Probably isn't good enough, sweetheart," Carl snorted. "Gotta be sure. I'm not letting anyone hurt you."

"Carl, why are you still here?" Adrianna asked. "If Ibby's so worried, why aren't you back in Vegas?"

"Because she's more worried about you, and I can blend in here. A lot of the guys, well, they need Ibby's tight leash more than I do." That much Adrianna couldn't argue with. Ibby's boys were usually high-adrenaline guys, sometimes mustered out of military or other dangerous professions for health reasons. They weren't incapable, but Uncle Sam likes his toys in good condition, especially those who tended to do very naughty things in places they would swear they'd never been. Most of them could do the job, but they needed a firm hand to keep them in line. Generally, they knew it, accepted it, and enjoyed the work. Carl didn't need the limitations, but he wasn't as young as he had been. Carl was at least fifty, maybe more, and his body was a library of tales he would never be allowed to tell.

"That bad?" she asked softly.

"Worse," Carl replied grimly. "Phoenix was the last straw. You know how careful Dominic was with her. You know she'd learned to fight. If this crazy fuck could get to her…" he shrugged. The logic was, to him, undisputable.

A knock at the door interrupted her reply. Adrianna walked over to the door, certain Spencer was on the other side. Her hand reached out for the knob.

"Visual!" snapped Carl. He hadn't moved from his post by the door.

Adrianna hesitated, then looked out the window. It was Spencer. She opened the door, but didn't let him in.

"What do you want?" she asked softly.

"We need to talk." He paused while she digested that. "Can I come in?" He was still wearing his badge and gun on his belt. She wasn't used to seeing him like that. When they were together, he was more discreet about his position with the FBI. It was a little odd, knowing he was armed and there in an official capacity. Maybe it was better that way, not talking like old friends.

Adrianna nodded, moved back from the door. "Carl's here," she said, motioning to the man who was now empty-handed, but wearing a shoulder holster over his white dress shirt. His tie was loose, and she knew what Spencer had to be thinking. "He's security, Spencer. Nothing more."

"You don't owe me any explanations, Adia," Spencer said, the nickname like a knife. "Good to know you have protection. I'm SSA Spencer Reid, with the Behavioral Analysis Unit." Spencer held out his hand.

Carl actually shook it. "Call me Carl. I work with a private security firm based in Vegas. We're licensed in all fifty states and the protectorates," he added. "Including D.C."

"Which is neither a state nor a protectorate," Spencer said, eyebrows raised. "I, ah, need to talk to Adia for a while, so -

"We have the files you need," Adrianna interrupted, a rushed sentence aimed at avoiding the conversation. She turned to motion to the table, let her gaze linger on the files.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Spencer turn and look at her. She didn't look at him.

"We are going to have this conversation, Adrianna," he said, voice firm but soft. "If you prefer Carl to stay, that's fine with me." He gave her a quick smile when she finally looked at him. "Morgan and Hotch are still pretty upset, though."

"Because I wouldn't go along with selling Seaver to the highest bidder?" she snorted. "Yeah. Great."

"There was more to it than that," Spencer acknowledged, "but that was probably the main part. Their plan has merit, if the facts bear it out. If they don't, better that Seaver knew what she was volunteering to risk."

"And the others?" She didn't want to know, did she?

"Rossi's pretty much the same. Nothing you said really surprised him - although, I doubt he can really be surprised anymore. Seaver's been pretty quiet, but she's not upset. I think she realizes that the assignment was a bit more than she thought it'd be. Garcia…I haven't really talked to her today, but she's probably still a little in shock. She tends to keep away from the rougher side of what we do, as much as she can." He stopped there. Waiting. Finally, she had to ask.

"And you?" she asked. This was what she was avoiding. What she still wanted to avoid, but if she'd learned anything about Spencer Reid, she'd learned he was stubborn. Other kids would have knuckled under, done less than they could, just to be accepted - or end the torment. Spencer hadn't. He hadn't given in to the bullies or to his mother's illness. Or his father leaving. Or the FBI trainers who had tried to get him to quit. Or the pressure of any number of things since he started at the BAU. She wasn't that stubborn. And he knew it.

"I told them not to ask," he said softly. "They don't listen very well sometimes."

She waited. He didn't add to that.

"That's it?"

"What else did you expect me to say?" he asked, eyes a little confused.

"Don't try to play me, Spencer. Don't do it." Adrianna was upset, and the only way to speak through the lump in her throat was to snap at him.

He walked over to her, brushed his hand across her cheek. His eyes were so gentle. Too understanding.

"I'm not angry with you. I'm not ashamed of you. And I'm not walking away just because Morgan and Hotch have their heads in an anatomically unlikely position."

Adrianna couldn't stop the choked little laugh. "How unlikely?" she asked, turning her face into his hand. She closed her eyes. He wasn't walking away. Now what? This was completely unexplored territory.

"The absence of sunlight is not unexpected," he replied, an answering smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Oh." She didn't say anything else as his hand slid under her hair, his other hand settling on her hip as he moved forward, taking her in his arms, but not holding her tightly. She buried her face in his shoulder, felt his lips against her hair.

They stood like that until Carl cleared his throat, the kind of unsubtle gesture he could manage without being the least bit apologetic.

"Adia, the files," he prompted.

Adrianna nodded against Spencer's shoulder, stepped back. Spencer let her, but caught her hand. She relaxed when he didn't let go, leading him over to the table.

"They're over here. I've been going through them, and I only know about five of the girls, including the three I told you about. There are about twenty files here, and they're still looking." The news was sobering, but Spencer didn't move away. Instead, he let her sit down and took a seat next to her.

"So, what's in the files?" he asked, looking at the thick folders.

"Records. Health records, insurance records, financial records…client lists," she added. "A lot of these girls tended to see their clients more than once. Some developed a set group and became exclusive. When they retired, they sold the names to the girls they thought would be the best match for their clientele."

"Not the whole list?" Spencer asked, recalling the black widow in Texas who had targeted her client list to get back at her father.

"Not at all. A single name could go for about fifty thousand, but the list? No more than about three hundred. Selling fifteen, twenty names to individual high-end girls was much more lucrative. It was also easier to pass off as a legitimate property sale or a hot night at the casinos. The girl selling her list could also spend more time with individual clients while she searched for a replacement, which kept her revenue high while she was working her way out of the business. Sometimes, she'd hold an audition…for a fee." Spencer looked at the first file. It was at least an inch thick. "The client would add another grand or so, and she'd bring in a girl she thought would match his tastes. If they clicked, the new girl would purchase the name, and that was the end of it."

"Wait, there are two files for this one," he murmured, lifting two thick folders.

"She was in the trade for twenty-five years, Spence," Adrianna said softly. "From the age of eighteen. She had a lot of records. Those are her health records. This file," she indicated the one in his left hand, "is clients, with statistics regarding frequency from the first night to the last, and these three," she lifted three heavy, three-inch thick folders, "are financials. Her diaries are being brought over as soon as they're packed and delivered."

"Diaries?" he asked, watching the stack of paper for one hooker pile up. "She kept diaries?"

"We…all did. All of us who…used the same security and financial resources." She didn't want to think about those, either. Recording the events, the times, the preferences, the names - she didn't like names, but she had them, oh, she had them - that was not the highlight of her working day.

"Adrianna, it's possible the connection is there - why won't you give me a name?" he asked softly.

"Because it's not one, but two different resources," Carl answered. "They're declining to be identified at the moment, but they will assist in every way possible. There are other things we can get for you, if you need them."

"Like what?" Spencer asked, intrigued.

"Video, audio, interviews with clients," Carl shrugged. "Name it."

"Video?" Spencer blinked. "There's video of…"

"Yes." Carl's answer was final.

"Standard operating procedure for the first year," Adrianna said, voice a little hoarse. "The tapes are kept for the girls…to learn. To go over their…performance. To get better at the job. They're strictly in-house, and no one but the girl and her mentor sees them. The john doesn't even know about them."

"Mentors?" Spencer squeaked. He seemed amazed at the kind of effort that went into the work.

"New girls, especially those who go for the big money, they need help making sure they _can_ earn it. A lot of the girls that use these services make twenty, thirty grand a month," she added. He didn't say anything, but looked at her. She knew the question. "My best month was fifty-six, after taxes. That was about three years into the life."

"After taxes? That's…that's…" She figured he was running the tax tables through his mind. Thankfully, he didn't say anything more. He shook his head and went back to the files. Adrianna could tell he was forcing himself to focus. Pages flipped with disturbing rapidity. He would forget nothing. If only he would...

"Does he know?" Carl asked softly, indicating Spencer with his chin.

"Only why," Adrianna said, not wanting to have that conversation, knowing Carl would bring it up. "Not…the rest."

Carl gave her a long look. "And this was smart of you, how, exactly?"

"Why does it matter?" Adrianna demanded. "It's over. Done."

Carl pointed at Spencer. "'Cause he's about to find out anyway."

Spencer had just opened the first financial file. He froze. Looked up at Adrianna slowly. She had to say something.

"And that was almost thirty years ago," she said softly. She didn't want to see the look in his eyes. It was too much like pity. "It was...comparable, allowing inflation and market demand." His eyes narrowed a little. "Scarcity drives up the price," she whispered.

Spencer closed his eyes, sank back against his chair. The file was gently returned to the pile. Adrianna knew that expression. Surprise with a mix of pity and a generous helping of pain. He hadn't had any idea.

She'd liked it better that way.

CM=-+=-+=-+CM

Not long after that, Spencer had recovered, picked up another file, and started reading at his customary lightning speed. Adrianna had given Carl a bit of information about Spencer's processing speeds, so the man hadn't said anything. Then again, he probably wouldn't have said anything anyway. Carl was like that.

Two hours later, Spencer was most of the way though the files when Carl went out to pick up dinner for the three of them, growling instructions about opening doors and keeping to the back part of the apartment. Spencer had nodded, but hadn't stopped reading.

Adrianna was writing a list of names and dates, when the women had started whoring, when they'd gotten out of it. What they'd done afterward.

Every single woman had the same series of events in her life.

"Spencer," Adrianna said, the list of twenty-three names showing the same pattern: get out, get engaged, get married, live well. "I think I found the pattern." She held out the list for him.

Spencer looked up from the file and took the legal pad from her. Two seconds later, he looked up, focusing on something in the distance, then turned to look at her.

"The one thing they all have in common," Spencer murmured.

"Husbands," Adrianna whispered.

CM=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+CM


	9. Explanations, of sorts

Once a Hooker

a sequel to the fic **To a Hooker**,

both by TarnishedArmour

Timeline: Season 7. By necessity, this is A/U.

Summary: Adrianna had left hooking behind, moved to a new life in Virginia, and renewed her friendship with Spencer Reid. So why is she giving hooker lessons again? *To a Hooker's sequel.

A/N: POV shifts marked with CM=-+CM=-+CM break.

CM=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+CM

Spencer took a long moment, studying the list.

"It's possible," he admitted. "And it is one of two commonalities: working as a prostitute and leaving the trade are the other possibilities."

Adrianna shook her head. "It's more than that. Being a prostitute…there's a stigma. A lot of the girls I know who dated after they left the business, when the guy found out? It was over. Immediately. They didn't wait for explanations, or anything else. These women weren't just out of the business, they were married and a lot of them had kids. What else could it be?"

"The possibilities are, not endless, but there are more of them than you'd think. Consider: they could have had the same…customer. The locations they worked could be part of it, since they were all from Nevada, or worked in Nevada for the majority of their careers. The tie back to the security and finance sectors is another possibility, since all but eight of the identified victims go back to these…companies?" he asked.

"Not exactly, but that's the best way of putting it," Adrianna murmured. "Okay," she surrendered. "You're the profiler. If there's a master list of possible connections that have been verified, the happily-ever-after needs to be on it."

Spencer was quiet for a minute. "Agreed. The marriage angle is definitely one that needs to be pursued, in depth." He paused for a minute. "Adrianna, when we do figure him out, and we will, have you considered the option of helping Seaver?"

"Be her mentor?" Adrianna shook her head. "Spence, do you know what you're asking?"

"I'm sure you'll tell me," he replied. "Without the fireworks, this time." He didn't accuse her of anything, but that wasn't a request. She took a breath.

Adrianna nodded. "I could. But it's not just that I'd be training her to do some kind of advanced, field-based profiling, Spence. I'd be training her to _be_ a whore. A very expensive, very well-compensated whore." She took a breath. "Green as she is, I wouldn't be surprised if she's a virgin. And that opens a completely different can of worms." She closed her eyes and leaned back. "Selling a girl into the trade, it's complicated. Verification of innocence is required, followed by the transfer of funds to a holding account - the amounts transferred immediately send up all kinds of financial red flags, so it has to be done in amounts of no more than $3,000, preferably varied enough that it looks like an investment offshore in some kind of company. She has to have the account opened for her, generally listed as an LLC or something similar, and it's usually got a name that markes it as a financial institution of some sort. After that, the meeting has to be set up, usually done through an intermediary, like a lawyer, to protect confidentiality. This isn't unusual in Vegas, given the amount of money and big spenders that cycle through in a given year.

"Then there's the physical set-up, the location. The room is set up by security, and that doesn't include the rest of the night. There are hidden cameras for the entire night, not just in the room itself. The itinerary is carefully outlined by the john and considered by security. Any changes that are made, for whatever reason, are done, and the final schedule is approved by the mentoring girl. No deviation from the plan is allowed, and security is there the entire time, including a post outside the room. They listen in and monitor the entire time. Including CCTV on the video." She took a breath. "Even with a set security service on retainer, like the one Carl's with, it gets expensive. I paid ten percent to have financial and security services, as well as keeping health and insurance records for me. Some girls pay 15 percent, and that includes all record-keeping, from property to credit cards.

"So we're at the actual date. The john takes the girl out, spends the time with her, and takes her up to the room. Sometimes screaming and crying is involved because the john likes to feel the girl's pain the first time. She knows that he wants to hurt her before she agrees. Granted, they don't really know the extent of what that means, but the payout is enough to have them agree. On the other hand, sometimes…it's like a fantasy." She answered him before he could ask. "Mine was the fantasy night. He liked virgins, but he liked them happy. Or as happy as they could be." Spencer gave her a questioning look. "Verification, remember? A torn or weak hymen isn't worth as much as one completely intact. And intact hurts, no matter how much the guy knows about virgins. Then again, he has to like that reaction, or he'd get more experienced girls."

She shrugged. "Catch-22. The details vary, depending on the proposal by the john. But the night isn't over then. The john calls for security to come in and escort her out at the appointed time. The transfers are completed, and when she gets back to her rooms, the account is released to her. The next ten, twenty encounters are similar, with no training, because some men like innocence. They need the uncertainty, doubt, maybe even pain, but all of them want to be part of the discovery process, because that's what gets them off. During these weeks, and it does take a few weeks to get through those first ten or twenty encounters because she has to take care of herself between clients.

"Time passes, johns come and go -" she snorted at the unintentional pun, "- and sometime in the next few weeks, she has cards with the number printed, for those who prefer to deal in wire transfers. The client provides a list of amounts that will be transferred, usually every fifteen minutes to half hour, if that's the case. Remember, though, that this is Vegas, and the guys with the money like to gamble. A lot of guys pay in chips, so it's easier to cash out and move the money - you're not going to relay this to the white collar teams, are you?" she asked, suddenly wary. "It could be considered money laundering, but the girls absolutely pay taxes, both on income and on any earnings from investments."

"Not my concern. White collar doesn't usually produce serial killers. There have been a couple of exceptions, though," he acknowledged, thinking of the Florida case. "So, it's complicated. Why would this matter?"

"Because a bad first night, especially a virgin's night, can ruin a girl," she sighed. "It's happened. I know a couple of girls who weren't going into the life, but they needed the money, usually to take care of someone they loved. They can be pretty beat up when they leave. One girl ended up in a psych ward, but she got more than enough to take care of her, especially when she agreed to let the money managers take care of investing what she didn't need to use immediately. Don't let that fool you - there's no happy ending at the end of this story. She committed suicide about two years ago. I went to her funeral." Spencer was staring at her now. She shook her head. "No, it wasn't like that for me.

"I never talk about it, and I won't now, but…afterward, when I got back to…my room, my mentor was there. We talked. I recorded everything in my diary. It wasn't…horrible, but it wasn't pleasant, either." She shook her head, moved on. "I didn't know it, but the entire night had been filmed. After the first two months, I my mentor, Phoenix, started going over the tapes with me, starting with the first one. Spence, I watched each and every transaction, each and every tape for a _year_, got pointers, learned to read people…got some outside training and experience for the different possible requests I could field." His confused look made her explain. "BDSM, discipline play, role playing - the naughty librarian is very popular, by the way - even how to…put on a show for the voyeurs. The fact that it's prostitution sounds like I just picked up the trade as I went along, but to be high-end requires serious effort, and…I knew I couldn't handle working the streets."

"But you picked up your clients yourself," he said, using the softest word he could. She smiled, not needing such delicacy from him. It was nice, though, the way he considered her reactions.

"Yes, but I didn't do that at first. There was a number…and for a while I took orders, kind of like a cross between pizza delivery and an escort service. Not a madam - I took the requests myself. But it was more controlled that way. I had an escort to and from, a guard at the door." She took a deep breath. "I told you Phoenix was my mentor. She was absolutely amazing. I learned so much. She taught me so much…" Adrianna grew quiet, remembering all of the coaching she'd had to try and enjoy it. When she hadn't been able to, Phoenix had taught her to fake it, to make the man feel like a god. She owed Phoenix so much, and not just for the technical aspects of the business. Phoenix had shown her how to cope with the different aspects of selling her body, of recording each transaction, then forgetting it. Phoenix had been somewhat exclusive, but Adrianna couldn't make herself go that route. So she'd learned to cope, to move on, to compartmentalize. The training had stood her in good stead - until last night. Damn, that wouldn't go away.

Spencer was playing with his pen, making it disappear and reappear. "Do you…use any of the-that training…with me?"

"Sometimes," she admitted. "I have to." She saw the small wince, and gasped. "No! I use it, but not the same way, though. Spence, you've studied, a lot. And you are everything I said you were, but, damn, how do I explain this?"

"Just say it," Spencer said. "If it's bad, then…be gentle?" he requested.

"Oh, no. Nothing's bad, just… There are some things that you do, if I didn't know how to respond, to move, the position and the angles…some of it could be very painful. Especially…" she bit her lip. "How blunt do you want me to be?"

"That's sufficient," Spencer said, blushing a little. "Maybe we can discuss details later."

"Right. Well, you've studied, too, maybe without the extensive practice," Spencer glanced up at her then, "but theoretical knowledge doesn't always transition into practice very well. You mentioned partners, but not dates. Or long-term lovers."

"True," Spencer murmured. "You've lasted the longest, but…Adia, you don't think we're dating, do you?" he asked, and he seemed a little wary.

"No. I don't want to _date_, Spence. I just…need more time." She allowed for the possibility of a long-term romance, but she didn't want it. She liked having a friend, a lover. She didn't want the crap that seemed to flourish when it came to emotional involvement. This was better. Cleaner.

"Good." Adrianna blinked at that, and Spence saw it. "I'm no angel, Adia. Between the job, the nightmares, and the chances of schizophrenia…I don't want a complicated relationship. This-what we have is good." He tipped his head. "Solid, but not…heavy."

Adrianna smiled. Of course, Spencer would understand that. None of his team would, but she wasn't sharing her bed with the team. And she wasn't really inclined to, either. Spencer was more than enough to keep her occupied.

"I know." She shook her head. "Just so you know, though, do you remember when I told you we - the girls - learned to fake it?" Spencer nodded, not giving her any indication what he was thinking. "Well, I always faked it. All of it. The interest, the want, the orgasms." She snorted. "There was nothing _fun_ about work. It took leaving the life," _meeting you,_ she didn't say, "and a lover, not a client, to finally…" She took a breath. She couldn't say it. Not right then. Damn. When did she get so whimpy? "But…I could - can - because I trust you, Spence, and I couldn't trust the…clients. So, no, it's not the same. Not even close."

"Even though I require more skill than others?" He seemed more than pleased with her assessment so far.

"Even though. You don't mind me using 'whore's tricks' do you?" she asked, worried and curious.

"If we both benefit…" he paused. "Wait, if they're whore's tricks, then if I use them…"

"Gigolo's tricks," she replied, a little grin on her lips.

"Ah." His eyes narrowed a little. "Are you trying to get me to quit the Bureau and take up prostitution in Vegas?"

"Uh, no." Adrianna smiled, then grew serious. "It can be brutal, Spence, and I'm not talking about the serial killer. Everything about the trade is built on selling a fantasy. In a lot of ways, you're too honest to start in on the trades."

"Thank you." He looked at her, eyes soft. His lips quirked up in a smile. "You know, if we'd talked a little longer, I might have let you convince me to go up to my room," he admitted.

"You didn't give any clue that you knew I was a hooker," Adrianna responded.

Spencer laughed, a little wickedly. "You'd be amazed how many hookers flirt with me. Almost as many as grandmothers. Something about feeding me, I guess."

Adrianna laughed. "You, sir, are trouble." He was relaxed, not at all upset about the information she'd given him - or last night. Temptation, an unfamiliar sensation, reared its head. She pushed back from the table, stood, and slipped one leg over his, straddling him. Her hands were on the back of the chair, just above his shoulders. He was trapped by her. He didn't seem to object. "Wanna know what I learned about chairs?" she offered.

"Show me," he murmured. Spencer pulled her down for a kiss, let his arms wrap around her and slide under her shirt. Adrianna wiggled a second, moving so she was sitting on his legs, then started to work on his belt. She had just gotten his fly open when the door crashed open.

"Damn! Forgot how rainy it is here," Carl muttered, slamming the door behind him. "I got Japanese…" He laughed, seeing Adrianna drop her head to Spencer's shoulder and Spencer drop his head to the back of the chair. "Sorry, kids. Playtime's over. Go wash up for dinner."

Adrianna lifted one hand from the back of the chair, extended her middle finger and waved it in the general direction of the front door.

Carl laughed harder.

CM=-+CM=-+CM

Rossi looked at Hotch. The man was not doing well. This case, one of many, was less urgent than the one that had just crossed their desk: a family annihilator loose in upstate New York.

"Are you going to call Reid?" Rossi finally asked.

"He's on leave," Hotch replied, studying the file in front of him.

"He's still part of the team." That was a reasonable statement. Neither confrontational nor insubordinate - though Rossi wasn't really subordinate in anything but name.

"And he's a member of the team who is on leave," Hotch reiterated.

"Admit it," Rossi pushed now. "You're still pissed because his girl called you out."

"Dave - "

"You knew it was a bad idea, you knew it when I suggested it. But you went along with it. Why?"

"Because if we can get in front of this unsub, we can stop him without losing any more women to his delusion."

"You're certain it's a delusion? Not a fantasy? Or a form of justice?" he asked, probing.

"He murders women who are married, many who have children. He slits open the abdomen just above the pancreas - not the stomach or heart, but the _pancreas_ - and stuffs in ads about prostitutes. What else could it be?"

Rossi was quiet for a minute, studying the younger agent.

"Any number of things. So, are you calling Reid?"

Hotch gave him a cold look.

Dave raised his hands. "It's a simple question."

"No." Rossi waited. "He needs to deal with Ms. O'Shaughnessy, if he can. We may still need her, with victimology, if nothing else."

"And pimping out Seaver could still work," Rossi added, "depending on the MO of the unsub, when we finish the profile." Hotch shot him a glare.

"We wouldn't be pimping her out," he said, carefully calm. "We would be using her ability as a profiler in the field while she was working in the most likely location for the unsub to find her."

"Right. Bait." Rossi turned and started walking to the door of the briefing room. "That makes it sound so much better."

Hotch closed the folder, tossed in on the table, and let out a heavy sigh. Rossi disappeared through the door, on his way to his office to retrieve his ready bag.

He saw Seaver in the bullpen, dropping something into her bag. It had been a good plan, before he'd gotten to see the way Seaver had reacted to Adrianna's voice of experience. Rossi sighed. He didn't know is she could handle the assignment now. She wasn't becoming part of the team - too eager, too green. Too…everything. But they needed a female agent in the field. Damn Seaver. Damn Adrianna.

Women.

Sometimes, they truly were a pain in the ass.

CM=-+CM=-+CM


	10. Offerings

Once a Hooker

a sequel to the fic **To a Hooker**,

both by TarnishedArmour

Timeline: Season 7. By necessity, this is A/U.

Summary: Adrianna had left hooking behind, moved to a new life in Virginia, and renewed her friendship with Spencer Reid. So why is she giving hooker lessons again? *To a Hooker's sequel.

A/N: I don't think I disclaimed earlier. Well, here it is: I do not own Criminal Minds, the CM characters, the FBI, or any locations herein mentioned; nor do I profit from this endeavor in any way. (Except maybe a little ego boost now and then, but that doesn't really count.)

CM=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+CM

Reid was looking over the list of commonalities that were known from the files. There was no glaring point of convergence except for the marriages and children. None of the women had married badly; most were able to be housewives with generous allowances and even nannies to deal with the children. Several account numbers for wire transfers had matched from list to list, and client lists had also contained many of the same names. A lot of Roberts, Johns, and other generic names were present - too many not to be a statistical anomaly, so the names were obviously pseudonyms. Despite this expected phenomenon, none were the same over the long span of time when matched with account numbers or casinos, so narrowing down the field with alternate records-maybe by client requests and transaction details-would be more productive.

"Adia," he said, hoping she was still nearby. He looked over his shoulder. She wasn't in the dining area or the kitchen. He stood and walked into the living area. And blinked.

Carl had Adrianna pinned and was taunting her.

"Work for it! Think! What do you have to do to get out of this hold?"

Spencer studied the hold for a minute, noting the points of pressure and the range of motion Adrianna had with her legs, arms, and back. He thought if she arched her back and kicked up with her left leg, she could knock him off balance, but he was far from expert when it came to escaping holds in hand-to-hand combat. In fact, he still had waivers for most of the physical aspects of the job. As he watched, he started to wonder what it would take to get him into some kind of shape. He was clumsy, and he knew it. He also knew he was not physically imposing, not blessed with speed or athleticism, and would probably lose an arm-wrestling match with a nine-year-old girl. On the other hand, he was very, very smart.

At the moment, that didn't seem to count for much. He continued to watch as Adrianna tried several different escapes, then turned her head and bit Carl's thumb. A curse, a twisting motion and wriggle later, Adrianna was out of Carl's grip and had gotten to her feet.

Carl was…grinning?

"Good. Don't forget to use your environment to your advantage." He shook his hand. "You don't have to be stronger or faster if the other guy's too big to get close to you." He glanced up. Spencer gave him a little 'wow, that was neat' smile. Carl frowned. "You're next."

Spencer managed not to wince. He thought about trotting out the knee, or the waivers, but the frown was accompanied by an assessing gaze. Instead of the panic that usually struck him when confronted by the prospect of any form of physical confrontation, he realized something that made him relax a little. With Carl, there would be no pressure. Not like at the Academy, or with Morgan - he swore the older man hadn't left high school when it came to physicality and the tendency to use physical force - and Adrianna might be convinced to be a sparring partner. Which presented several pleasant possibilities, too. Morgan may be an aesthetically pleasing male specimen - and given the sheer number of females who flocked to him, that was not an unreasonable conclusion - but he certainly did not have Adrianna's curves, or her other anatomical appendages. And he did enjoy certain appendages, perhaps more than was commonly acceptable. Right now, those appendages were heaving in an intriguing manner. He was, of course, suitably intrigued.

"First, I need to talk to Adia," Spencer said. Adrianna nodded, still panting.

"Stretch. Cool down slowly. Walk for a little while," Carl said, taking his own advice. "I'll be here."

Adrianna nodded toward the kitchen and Spencer followed her. She grabbed the bottle of orange juice from the refrigerator, assessed the amount left, and didn't bother with a glass. Spencer waited while she drank, studying the line of her throat as she drank quickly. It was a nice line. The memory of the last time he saw her neck at that angle - last night - intruded. He let himself remember the sensation of her mouth, the easy way she moved to accommodate his whispered request to turn her body, putting her better in his reach. They way she laughed and hummed around him when he began to tease her in return. The way she gasped when his moved his mouth to cover her -

"Spence?"

He blinked, returned to the present.

"What do you need?" She didn't seem irritated, so apparently he hadn't been spaced out long enough to require repetition of his name, though perhaps recalling sexual exploits when he was supposed to be concentrating on victimology was less than professional. On the other hand, if he didn't admit it, who would ever know?

"You mentioned videos and diaries," he said, more bluntly than he intended. He saw her grow still, nod slowly. The speed of his words increased in response. He had to get this out quickly, or he wouldn't manage to say it at all, especially with the way she seemed to just shut down at the mention of the videos and diairies. He'd leave the visual recordings out of the request. Maybe that would help? "Can the diaries be sent here? There are a few possibilities that-that we haven't addressed. Transaction specifics - particular requests from the clients, a common hotel, a similar physique or act, a common physical description of something unique to the client -" This was bad. But how else could he say it? Better to just put it out there and get it over with. Kinda like pulling duct tape off your eyes, you do it quick and try not to yelp when the eyebrows and eyelashes got ripped out. He should know, since he had a personal vendetta against duct tape. The comparison wasn't inaccurate, but, if anything, this felt worse.

"Stop," she whispered, eyes closed. "I see where you're going. They're not all in one place. Most are, but there are a few who…kept their information nearby." She had someone specific in mind, but he didn't want to hazard a guess who. Not even in his own mind. Sometimes it was better to remain completely objective. Or maybe it was better, in this case, to give his lover room to avoid something painful while mislabeling it as objectivity. That worked just fine for him. The longer they were together, the stranger things became - in a good way. This dynamic of friend-lover was interesting, and not at all the same as a romantic liaison, which would have made his request impossible…but he was getting distracted.

"What is it?" he asked, finally registering more than the reluctance to speak.

"I…I can have my own diaries sent. And the videos," she said. "Just…if there's… a need for…reference." Spencer stared at her. He hadn't asked for that. Didn't want to ask for that. Didn't want her to volunteer. Fuck. Oops. Fooey-darn. No, that wasn't any better. All of the good curses were failing him. Where was some good sixteenth-century German swearing when he needed it? Oh, she was still talking. Better pay attention… "There's a good chance…I know who…or…" She stopped there, looking down. She hadn't looked at him since he made the request. Maybe it was too much for her.

Spencer walked over, touched her arm gently, not daring to try an embrace. For one, he wasn't quite certain of hug protocol in this situation, and two, she might hurt him. But touch, that he knew was therapeutic. Sometimes. When she didn't reject him out of hand, he stepped a bit closer, tipped her face up to look at him with a gentle touch to her chin. He looked into her eyes, saw the worry, the fear, the pain.

"I would never ask you to do that." He whispered, carefully watching for her reactions. She wasn't giving him much to work with. He paused for a minute before he spoke again. "If you think it could help, go ahead. I won't read your journals, or watch your videos - or let anyone else - unless _you _bring them to me. I'll only look at the sections you flag as relevant."

He swallowed. Now how to phrase this next part? It felt bad, keeping a potential goldmine of information from the team, but he couldn't put her in the position that so many of the team had been in at one time or another. His drug problem, Morgan's experience as a victim of molestation, Rossi's problems with teamwork and the cases that haunted him, Hotch's life being opened to scrutiny during the Reaper hell, and everything with Emily…all of that was the team, and part of the job. Adrianna wasn't one of them. She was his responsibility, not theirs. The thought of Hotch and Haley flitted by, but he ignored it. This was completely different.

"I won't tell anyone where I got the information, and only excerpts will be used - if anything has to be." She closed her eyes as he talked. Was this correct? Was this what she needed to hear?

"How can you promise that?" she whispered. "They'll need to know. To…see."

"Confidential informant," he said, thinking quickly. For Spencer Reid, quickly moved very fast indeed. "Information from someone who had been in the business, but who had, for several personal reasons, left the trade and become an ordinary citizen. After recognizing a few of the victims from her past, though not by their legal names, she came forward with her own personal information to help find the unsub. Because of the position she holds now, she won't speak to anyone but me about her past, as her previous occupation could endanger her current employment and reputation. The single condition is that there is no reference to her in any way - and the feminine pronoun is used in the relative generic, much like the original use of the masculine when referring to any person. Since the profession in question is dominated by women, the use of the generic feminine is more than acceptable, though not necessarily accurate. The deal would be if-if I allow any information about her to leak, if she even suspects it, then she'll bolt and take everything with her."

"I wouldn't do that -" The objection had some heat behind it. He was glad to see something flash on her face, something other than that hesitation. Adrianna was not supposed to hesitate. And that was something of a ridiculous assertion, even in the privacy of his mind. Of course she would hesitate. She was human, and the past was painful for her to talk about. He knew that. His mouth had been moving for a few seconds, and he really needed to catch up.

"They won't know it's you. Unless you tell them." He paused again. "And I didn't ask, Adrianna. I would _never_ ask." He wouldn't. He hadn't. He didn't _want_ to know, because he had yet to learn how to _un_know something. Utilizing skills learned in a previous profession in order to provide one another mutual pleasure was a far cry from examining the details of that profession, especially the way she was reacting. Honesty was one thing, but full disclosure…well, maybe he had been a little rough on Emily about some of the things she hadn't told the team. Then again, the Irish separatists weren't killing off ex-hookers who had become mothers and wives. No, not a comparable situation. It was still permissible for him to be upset with Emily, who wouldn't know the difference now, anyway. If she was really dead, which he was trying not to doubt, given that the ceremony had been closed casket, and there was something else nagging at him about that whole full-honors thing…something he should remember. Damn! Why hadn't he written it down?

"You're not asking, Spence," she whispered. "I'm offering." She opened her eyes then. "I'm scared. What if this," she motioned between them, unable to put a name to their relationship any more than he could, "is enough now? What if…what if he comes here next?"

"That's not the profile," Spencer replied, brushing a tendril of hair from her face. "It doesn't fit."

"The ones we know about. There are eight others, and they don't match either." That was the problem. That was what had her scared. That was why Carl was still here. And why she was practicing with Carl.

"The probability that they do is much higher with what we know about the victims so far," he said, speaking quickly. Too pedantic. Damn, he was losing her. "And we're still looking. It's too early to give up, to expect the unsub to come here. Adia, if I thought you were in danger, I'd arrange for a safehouse. I promise, as soon as there's any indication that he's coming here, that it's not about the marriage or potential for marriage, I'll have you moved. Adia…"

He didn't know what to say. So he squelched his doubts, his tendency to veer off onto tangential rants, even in his mind, and pulled her into a hug. He kissed her hair, forgetting about words, about his personal haven built of words. He'd talked unsubs down, victims down, families into calm and local cops into confidence. But how was he supposed to handle her? The others, there was a logical answer, based upon behavior, relationships, precedent, and observations of his team members in the same kinds of situations. But this was Adia. _His _lover, _his_ friend, _his_…just his.

And that scared him, too.

CM=-+CM=-+CM

Adrianna left after the hug ended. She faked recovering enough to go in to the bedroom and make her calls. She was still good at faking it when she needed to, but it hurt her now. She didn't want to put on the front, to make it look good. She wanted to be honest, but this whole help-the-feds thing wasn't prompting her to honesty. If anything, she was falling back into the old thought patterns. And that wasn't a good thing.

Outside, she heard Spencer's lesson start with Carl. Voices were muffled, but Carl was probably not impressed. He was used to physical guys, men who knew how to fight. He had been special forces, but never said which branch. When asked - and _someone_ always asked - he said it was part of his discharge requirements. Whatever branch, whatever he'd done, he was still able to do it. She knew that very well because she''d gotten the benefit of his teaching, and all she'd had to do was ask.

She sat, staring at the phone, wondering what possessed her to offer him her videos and diaries. She wanted to forget. Forget the past, forget her time as a prostitute, forget everything about Vegas. Well, almost everything. Not him.

After her parents died, there were few truly good things in her life. Her sister, her schooling, and Spencer were the only three she could count on. But she was scared. If he saw her life, what she had done, he would probably leave. He'd heard parts of it. Not all of it. Not by half.

Yes, she used whore's tricks in bed with him. He knew that. Now. She thought he knew he wasn't like one of the men in the past to her. She hoped he understood that this friendship with him wasn't about using tricks and what she'd learned in the past. He'd said he understood. He hadn't lied to her yet. But there was always the question: When would he lie to her?

All men did. Even Carl.

For the first time in her life, she trusted the man in her bed with more than just her name and a few hours of work. She let go with him. She let him touch her. Not her body, that wasn't special. She let him touch her…the only word that came to mind was spirit. Hiding wasn't an option with Spencer. And she liked that. Had liked that. Until now.

When this series of murders came to light, it was like the beginning of the end. Maybe. Maybe it was a new kind of beginning. She didn't know. That was part of the problem. Life was so much easier when she knew what to expect from people.

And now she had offered him her diaries. The videos. The first video. He would see her with other men, doing with them for money what she did with him for free.

He respected her. It was there in his voice, in the way he was so careful with her.

When he saw those videos, read those entries…how could he continue to be good to her? He was a good man, but so were a lot of the guys that dropped their ex-whore girlfriends, lovers, wives when they found out.

Why did she tell him she would let him read them? See them? They could get all the information they needed from the diaries and videos of the other women.

But he said he didn't need to see them, read them. He wouldn't touch them unless she gave them to him. That was very sweet, chivalrous, in a way - like he was. But it wasn't practical. Oh, she knew all about practical. She didn't know what to look for, so her watching it all again was pointless. And there was no way in Hell she was going to let anyone else from the team see her videos, read her diaries. No. Way.

It was too hard to think right now. Too hard to consider, to weigh, to deal with at all.

So she picked up the phone, dialed ten digits. Requested the personal effects of those identified. Mrs. Ibsen agreed, sending along a prepared confidentiality statement. Then she requested her own records. Mrs. Ibsen agreed. That was all. There was nothing else to say.

She hung up. Took a deep breath. Dialed another ten digits.

"Hello?" came the soft, cultured voice.

"Hi, Dominic?" she managed. "It's Adia. Juliette," she corrected quickly. "I-I heard about Phoenix…"

She managed to keep the tears out of her voice, but she couldn't keep them from falling.

This was going to hurt. With Master Thorn, it usually did.

CM=-+CM=-+CM

Ashley Seaver thought about the ex-hooker murders. Maybe it wasn't very professional to think of it that way, but she knew better than anyone what giving an unsub a nickname could do. So this guy wasn't the Hooker Killer or the Mommy-Whore Murderer, he was simply the unsub. And the women were all former hookers who had been mothers and wives. And murdered.

The case in New York had broken quickly, even without Reid. Which was odd. Normally, he managed to put together something that pushed their ways of thinking into a different direction, kind of like a catalyst in a chemical reaction - thank you, Dr. Martin, and Chem 1021. No, Reid being gone felt wrong. And she worried that her reaction showed, at least to Rossi, who was the only one who seemed to care one way or the other about how she was fitting in to the team. And then there was that whole scene before they left, the one where Reid's girlfriend had, well, lost it. She wasn't up for the task, or so the expert said, and Ashley wanted, wanted, wanted to prove the bitch wrong.

The problem was, she wasn't. Not entirely. Maybe she was too innocent, but Ashley knew she could do it. Knew it. The way she had known she could be part of the BAU. And she was. Kinda. There were some bumps in the road. Okay, so the road was a massive series of car-eating potholes with a few ribbons of asphalt here and there, but she was improving. Again, there was a problem. Or problems. One for each member of the team, including herself.

She was new, green, and inexperienced, but she was able and willing, which didn't count for much. Morgan didn't have much patience with her; Garcia kept calling her kiddo and talking to her like she was five, which didn't help; Prentiss was gone, so she was the only female on the team, which made certain aspects of the work a bit awkward, given the lack of experience she had in some areas; Reid was nice to her, but that was the standard, out-of-the-box Reid operating system, and what he really thought about anything was a mystery to everyone; and Hotch…was Hotch. That was a huge problem.

She knew Hotch had reasons for how he was. Knew he had a kid, that he'd lost his ex-wife to a serial killer, that he was always stressed and never relaxed, but she had no idea what he thought of her. She'd asked once. He had told her simply that if he thought she couldn't do the job, she wouldn't be in the unit, no matter who had assigned her to the BAU. She'd tucked her tail between her legs and slunk away.

And she couldn't figure out why she'd reacted that way. Hotch wasn't a cruel man. He wasn't particularly nice, but he was never cruel. He didn't yell at the agents, not like some of her trainers had. He didn't do a lot of the things she had come to expect from the people who worked for the FBI.

So who could she talk to? Talking to Reid was kind of like explaining the Theory of Relativity the wall: he'd listen, but all she'd get back was a blank stare. He didn't relate well, and his own problems fitting in were not hers. Morgan would pat her on the head and send her off with the figurative milk and cookies. Hotch…would be Hotch; therefore, singularly unhelpful. Garcia would listen, ramble on about something completely unrelated, and give a big happy smile like she'd helped immensely. But Rossi…maybe he'd listen.

Only one way to find out. Morgan and Hotch had taken the unsub in to the station, so she was loading the car with Rossi. When would another time to ask come up? Answer: It wouldn't. The jet was not a good place to have a conversation like this, not without an impromptu team meeting. Which would totally suck.

And she had to get that phrase out of her head. So she wouldn't say it again. Ever. Especially not in a consult meeting, like she had three weeks ago. Never, ever again.

"Hey, Rossi?" she said, getting the older man's attention. She wished he'd been her father. Then again, she'd once wished a half-dead, stray, mangy coyote had been her father, just to get rid of the one she'd had. It wasn't much of a compliment.

"Yeah, kid?" he asked, putting the box he carried in the back. "Whatcha need?"

"I just had a question for you. Maybe two," she hedged.

Rossi must have heard something in her voice. Trepidation? She hoped not. Damn, it was hard to talk to profilers!

"Something been on your mind?" he asked, watching her like the proverbial hawk. Which wouldn't be so bad, if she hadn't felt like the proverbial mouse. It struck her that he had pretty eyes, which was completely out of line and inappropriate and sooo not her way of thinking. He was Rossi. Not a pair of pretty eyes and certainly not a mentor. She didn't really have one of those, not anymore. Not since she was transferred off Cooper's team.

"Is it always this…strange, when Reid's not on a case?" she asked, the simpler question first.

"Define strange," he asked, voice dry. She remembered the looks he sometimes gave Reid. Maybe strange had been the wrong word, after all.

"I-I've gotten used to him, the way he always has some odd factoid ready to add to the mix. Then there's the geographical profiling - he's way faster than anyone else, even Garcia, when it comes to that. And his recall…" She shrugged, trying to play it off. "It just felt like everything was off on this case. Like it could have been cracked sooner, if he'd been here."

"Maybe it could have," Rossi said, nodding slowly. "Maybe not. He's not always right, you know. In fact, he's been spectacularly wrong a few times."

"But not many," Seaver supplied. This wasn't what she meant. "It's not…it was…the dynamic. It was off. There wasn't the same feel to the team. It was more, more in-your-face than usual."

She usually thought of the cases like chess games, with the unsub as the white king - the aggressor - and Hotch as the black king - the defender. If anything, Morgan was a knight, quick, cagey, and able to move around the board without much difficulty. Rossi was definitely a bishop, always moving at an angle, never straight-on, and he was unlimited in his moves. She, as a newbie, might qualify as a castle, limited as she was, and Reid…Reid was definitely the queen, an incredibly powerful piece, but not one that was quickly or easily sacrificed. Losing him, well, it felt like losing the entire game, even if they _had_ won this one. Back at Quantico, Garcia was the other castle, but her computers and the local LEOs were definitely the pawns. There was a delicate dance, when the team was in place. Strategy and moves, pushing and pulling back - but this time, the board was much bloodier. More chances had been taken, which was like pieces had been sacrificed. The patience, the long game, wasn't there. That's what it was: There was a distinct lack of finesse to this game, even though the good guys, the defenders, had won. Barely. Not that she'd ever, ever, _ever_ tell that metaphor to anyone. If she did, well, psych evals weren't that hard, but they weren't that good, either.

Rossi smiled suddenly. "Ah. I think I get it." He patted her shoulder, which he didn't usually do. Rossi was not exactly a demonstrative man, despite his Italian upbringing and panache. "Look, I know a thing or two about office romances, Ashley, and I can safely say that it's not a good idea to get involved with or emotionally invested in Reid, even if he is, ah, sexually gifted. He's a nice guy, don't get me wrong, but he's not equipped to handle a romantic relationship - he may never be. Just let it go, and, if you're jealous about Adrianna, well, I'm sure Garcia could give you some suggestions on how to deal with that."

Ashley felt her face go numb as she listened to his advice. That was _not_ what she meant. That was so far from what she'd meant that it wasn't even in the same universe. She felt her mouth move, but there was nothing coming out of it. She was staring at him like a she was the village idiot who'd just been handed a calculus problem.

FUCK!

He was walking back into the precinct. She was alone at the SUV, having just supplied Rossi with enough ammunition to get her kicked out of the BAU without a backward glance. She turned and looked at the boxes and bags, everything from the hotel rooms was in the back of the SUV she'd be sharing with Rossi on the ride to the airport. She rearranged some of the boxes on autopilot - the man may be brilliant, but he couldn't pack a car to save his life - and started muttering to herself. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckety-FuckFucK-FUCK!" she ended the muttering on a rather loud note as she started lowering the hatch, not registering her volume had been growing steadily throughout her litany of curses.

"Is there a problem, Agent Seaver?" came the ultra-calm voice of one SSA Aaron Hotchner. Ashley let go of the door handle as she turned too quickly and bonked her head against the rising back hatch.

"Ow!" she clapped one hand to her now-aching head and faced her unit chief, blushing. "N-no, sir," she managed. "Just…fixing some of the luggage."

Hotch gave her one of his patented Hotch stares, and she manage not to squirm.

"If there were a problem, you would tell me," he stated. Stated, not asked. The man didn't _ask_ about his agents, not really. He demanded, the agents supplied, and that was the end of it. It sucked.

"Of course, sir," she replied. He nodded once and turned to his SUV, Morgan already waiting in the cool interior.

"Seaver," he said, not turning around, "don't call me sir."

"Yes, sir - Hotch," she answered. This time, she closed the hatch without incident.

Fuck.

CM=-+CM=-+CM

Carl looked at the young man who was trying, not very successfully, to catch his breath. The kid may be a freakin' genius - and God's gift to sex, if he'd heard correctly last night - but he was about as aggressive as a plate of spaghetti. Soggy spaghetti.

"Okay, kid, what's the deal?" he asked, trying not to sigh.

"I…never…was any good…at…athletics," Spencer panted. He was sprawled on the floor of the living room, spread eagle, trying to expand his lungs enough to avoid passing out.

"You're an FBI agent. How the hell did you pass the physicals?"

"Waivers," he panted. He didn't have to say anything more. Carl understood.

"Okay," Carl said. "You listen and breathe. Tell me if I got this right." Spencer nodded, so Carl kept talking. "You're a genius. You were a child prodigy. You got your ass kicked a lot in school, didn't ya? Just nod." Spencer nodded. "You graduated from high school real young, which made you an easy target." Another nod. "Okay, I got that much from Adrianna. We talked about you, her FBI friend. She told me not to expect the usual agent, and so I asked for a few more particulars. Don't worry, she didn't say a lot." The kid looked a little relieved. "But you're from Vegas. I had one of the guys look you up." He looked more worried now, which may not be good - or maybe it was. Carl was flexible. "It wasn't hard to get the info from your old school. You might want to talk with them about that." At the kid's disbelieving look, Carl shrugged. "Just sayin'. So, here's the deal: You're too used to getting your ass kicked. You still think like the midget twelve-year-old kid who maybe came up waist high on a linebacker. That's not a bad thing to remember, given you're about as intimidating as a plate of spaghetti -" why pass up a good simile? "- but it's not a good thing, either.

"See, you're an adult now. You can get aggressive, but it's usually in the form of intellectual intimidation. That works pretty well in an interrogation room, but you're not stuck in those all day long. You're in the field. It's time for you to learn how to fight. And I don't mean that namby-pamby crap they teach to subdue a criminal. You're too fuckin' skinny and weak," the kid looked hurt, "because you're not built for the field. Not really. So chances of you really hurting someone enough to take them down with that crap, especially someone who's psychotic and on a killing spree…not too good. What you need to do," Carl said, smiling easily, "is consider the physics of fighting. It's all about leverage, balance, and torque. The strikes are about maximum effect for minimal effort. And if it takes more than thirty seconds from beginning to end, just shoot the fucker." Carl shrugged. The kid stared at him. "In the leg or something. It's real hard to resist when you can't stand up. Knees are good." The kid winced. "What?"

"Got shot in the knee," he said, able to actually talk now. "Not fun."

"Yeah, but the morphine made up for it, right?" Carl used an old joke, one soldiers had used since the dawn of morphine.

Spencer shook his head. "No. No narcotics. Nothing that strong. The strongest medicine I had was Tramadol, which is the high end on non-narcotic analgesics. It's prescription, but the next step up is Loratab, and that's controlled."

Carl nodded. "Okay. So why none of the good stuff? And trust me, when you're hurt bad enough, it don't give you the warm-fuzzies. It just lets you sleep."

"It's kind of a long story," Spencer hedged.

"We got time, and now you got the breath to tell it," Carl replied, settling in for something good. "But try to make it short."

"The team was in Georgia, one of the more rural areas, working at the request of the locals. I was…abducted and tortured by an unsub - a bad guy." Carl gave him a look. "Unsub means 'unknown subject' - only by then, a couple of us had figured out he was the one killing people, especially women, and using the _Bible_ to come up with justification for the murders. Problem was, he had…multiple personalities. The personality of Raphael, well, he thought he was an archangel, come to punish the wicked. He wanted me to tell the truth, to pick someone to die, so he played Russian roulette with me until I gave him a name. Then he did it again to get me to pick one of my team to die."

"Seriously fucked up," Carl murmured. "Sounds a lot like a POW camp in Vietnam. No," he said, seeing the curious look. "I'm too young for that particular FUBAR. But I know some guys."

Spencer nodded and continued. "There were two other personalities: Charles, the father he'd killed - this guy had serious issues - was the brutal one that beat the hell out of me to get me to confess my sins. So he could kill me. After making me dig my own grave. Then there was Tobias, who was actually a gentle person, but who had been completely overwhelmed by his father and his father's warped version of Christianity, which was heavy on Revelations and not to long on any of the 'love thy neighbour' and 'do unto others' sections. Long story, but it started when Tobias was about seven years old and continued throughout his life.

"As time went by, Charles became more unstable and vicious and life got worse at home, so, as a teenager, Tobias had become a drug addict, and he went out to a-an old private cemetery to shoot up. He'd been clean for years, but when he killed his father because the father was ill and demanded that Tobias kill him out of mercy, it caused a break with reality. To cope with the murder of his father, whom he killed only because his father demanded it and he had been brainwashed into obedience through the misuse of Scripture, well, in response he developed the personality of Raphael and took on the personality of his father as well.

"Between rounds of Russian roulette, murders caught on tape and published to the internet, and the various forms of torture 'Charles' indulged in, Tobias made his appearances. And gave me Dilaudid." Carl wasn't familiar with the name. "Basically drugstore heroin." Carl winced. "After that, I was pretty fucked up." Carl was impressed that he admitted it. A lot of men couldn't - even the spaghetti men. "Got everything straightened out again, but I can't take narcotic pain relievers, even if I really, really want them."

"Have you needed them more than just for the knee?" Carl asked, voice soft.

"Yeah, but the reason's classified," Spencer said, now levering himself up off the floor a little. He managed to sit up. "And I didn't take them then, either." There was a hint of pride in his voice.

Carl looked at the younger man for a long time. This was someone who should walk a lot taller than he did, who should get more respect than he did. So many people had no idea what it took to deal with a gunshot wound and other traumas without the aid of the happy-juice. Or deal with them _with_ the happy-juice. He let the younger man see the first glimmers of that respect from him, one veteran to another, as it were. When he spoke, it was quiet and utterly confident.

"You're tougher than you think, kid. You've got confidence, in some situations, and I'm not sayin' you shouldn't. But there are times you're going to need to kick a little ass, and it's better if no one thinks you can do it at all." He paused. "Take a look at Adia. She's soft and sweet and sugar and spice - everything nice, right?" Spencer nodded. "But she's got a helluva kick when she needs it."

"Like ginger," Spencer murmured.

"Huh. More like a can of whup-ass," Carl snorted. "She's been hurt a few times, sure, but she's also saved her own ass from bad situations before. Normally, she's easy-goin', nice as can be. But she can fight if she needs to." Carl gave Spencer a long look. "And so can you, if you learn."

"I've tried," Spencer said, and Carl thought he sounded frustrated. "I've tried, but it just doesn't work out the way it should."

"And your teachers, they were the usual combat instructors, right? The hand-to-hand guys that teach tackling and cuffing? Escape from specific holds?" When Spencer nodded, Carl gave him a grim smile. "That ain't the kind of fighting I'm talking about. I'm talking the quick, vicious kind that gets the other guy down and you away - or cuffing his ass, whichever you need to do. This isn't the FBI approved version, son. It's…more suited to your style."

"I have a style?" Spencer asked, apparently confused. Either that or dazed. Carl couldn't tell the difference.

"Yeah. The tougher-than-he-looks brainiac style." Carl laughed. "Reminds me. I gotta tell you about a buddy of mine. We went through selection together for special forces. He was tall, skinny, and looked like a strong wind would knock him over. Tough son-of-a-bitch, though. He could gut it out better than anyone else - which is how he got the recommendation to Selection, but that's another story - and a lot of that had to do with his background. His father beat the hell out of him since he was a kid, so…"

Carl kept talking while Spencer listened, rapt. He didn't look over at the bedroom door. He didn't have to. When Adrianna was ready, she'd come back out. Until then, he needed to keep Spencer occupied, and it wasn't that difficult. Dangling something in front of the kid like the ability to take care of himself in a fight without caving was the way to go.

Hell of it was, Carl wasn't even lying. The kid could do it, if he was willing to put in the effort.

"…so one of the instructors broke it down into the basic physics for him. Once they did that, using the constants he was more familiar with, he learned to fight back, not just take it all. A little push here and there to get him over the mental speedbumps, and he was one of the best." Carl smiled. "Now, let me show you one of the first things he learned…"

Spencer stood up, more curious and thoughtful than before. Thoughtful was good. Curious was good. It meant he was paying very close attention. Those eyes were bright with the kind of intensity he'd seen over at the table, going through piles records like shit through a goose. Now, if the kid was as serious as he looked, Carl would bet it all on the underdog.

Years ago, his instructors had done the same thing.

CM=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+CM


	11. Transitions

Once a Hooker

a sequel to the fic **To a Hooker**,

both by TarnishedArmour

Timeline: Season 7. By necessity, this is A/U.

Summary: Adrianna had left hooking behind, moved to a new life in Virginia, and renewed her friendship with Spencer Reid. So why is she giving hooker lessons again? *To a Hooker's sequel.

A/N: I don't think I disclaimed earlier. Well, here it is: I do not own Criminal Minds, the CM characters, the FBI, or any locations herein mentioned; nor do I profit from this endeavor in any way. (Except maybe a little ego boost from reviews now and then, but that doesn't really count.)

CM=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+CM

Adrianna walked out into the living room to hear a dissertation on one of Newton's Laws of Physics. She couldn't recall if it was number one, two, or three, but it was definitely effective when combined with the simple laws of leverage.

She smiled as she watched Spencer use both principles to put Carl on the floor. He then used torque and the limitations inherent in a hinge joint and transitioned into a nice armbar, which quickly became cuffing Carl.

"Good work, kid!" Carl said. "Now, uncuff me."

Spencer grinned. "What, I can't savor the moment?" He was breathing heavier than usual, but not anything like one of Carl's heavy workouts.

"Not until you do it four more times," Carl said, the drill instructor coming out. Or that's what Adrianna called it. Carl would, no doubt, object to the designation.

Knowing how self-conscious Spencer could be, she moved into the kitchen and started to work on dinner. She gave it ten minutes before Spencer managed the requisite four times, for both fatigue and the amazing lack of coordination he exhibited outside of the bedroom. In bed - among other sensual venues - he was amazingly coordinated and quite the athlete.

She was wrong. It took him seven.

He walked into the kitchen with Carl, both laughing. Spencer had broken a sweat, and he looked happy about it, too. Carl wasn't sweating, but he was rubbing his shoulder.

Adrianna smiled at them, raising her eyebrows to request an explanation.

"Carl's been working with me on hand-to-hand," Spencer said, giving her a kiss. "He's a good teacher."

Carl snorted. "You're smarter than the average grunt," he said in response. "Which means you actually get the point without endless demonstrations. His biggest problem," he said, turning to Adrianna and then looking into the pot, "is that he overthinks things."

"Mm," she said, kissing Spencer. She gave him a wicked little grin. "Not a bad thing," she said, turning back to the stove. Spencer smiled smugly at her, pardonable pride, considering the last time he had 'overthought' something. That had been fun. A little odd, difficult to achieve at first, but definitely fun.

"What's for dinner?" Spencer asked, peering over her shoulder.

"Spaghetti with garlic bread and salad," Adrianna replied. "Unless you object?"

Spencer grinned at Carl.

"Sounds good to me."

Carl chuckled.

Adrianna just shook her head and stirred in the noodles.

CM=-+=-+=-+CM

Garcia stared at her screens. The case was over. More ickiness was on the way. But this one was over, and her darling agents were coming home.

Now, what to do to welcome them properly…

CM=-+=-+=-+CM

Adrianna brushed her hair before heading to bed every night. Most nights she braided her hair, but when Spencer was there, she left it loose. He like her hair down around her shoulders, and she liked the way he ran his fingers through it when they were alone. Pleasing him cost her nothing, and he was always so grateful. She wondered if he had ever felt loved - not _known_ he was loved, but really felt it.

Not that she loved him. At least, not the kind of love that romance novels focused on. She cared. She wanted good things for him. She was happy to be around him most of the time. She enjoyed making him smile, talking about anything and everything under the sun…so maybe it could be considered love. Or maybe not. She was far from an expert when it came to emotional entanglements.

Tonight, though, the bedtime ritual was giving her too much time to think. She was bringing very personal, private memoirs to the attention and scrutiny of a federal agent. Given what she knew of names, dates, and acts that powerful men tended to engage in, she also knew that this was a very dangerous game. Was it dangerous enough that thirty-one women - or maybe only twenty-three, with eight random victims tossed in for giggles - had been killed for it? She was not one to know. But she had heard of girls disappearing after certain requests had been filled. Urban legend, maybe, but when swimming in deep water, better to be paranoid than dead.

Spencer walked out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. She smiled at him. He was tired. The work they were doing wasn't physically draining, but it was tiring. Then again, he had learned something about self-defense today, and that was tiring, too. Since Adrianna was used to a lot of physical exercise, the soreness she felt was from the muscles that had grown unused to the kind of workout Carl required. Spencer would be in agony, especially since he didn't know the first thing about proper stretching.

"Feel better?" she asked, knowing the hot shower had helped, but it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

"I suppose," he said, giving her a small smile. "I think I have a bruise." Adrianna looked at his arm, his ribs, and nodded.

"Looks like," she agreed. "I know something you don't know," she teased in a sing-song voice.

"Probably," Spencer conceded, "but can you play two simultaneous chess games while computing Planck's Constant?"

"No, and I have no idea why I would want to try," Adrianna said, blinking. She didn't remember what Planck's Constant was, but she did remember it didn't involve plankton, despite the similar syllables. "I could make you work for the information," she continued, opening the tie of her robe and sending the silky covering sliding down her shoulders. Intelligent as he was, it was always a joy watching his eyes go blank, then dazed as she bared her skin for him. That look, even though she'd seen it so many times before, gave her a thrill. As usual, he didn't disappoint.

"Okay," he said, walking over to her. When his hand slid around her hip, she smiled.

"Or," she said, sliding her hands down his arms and up to his shoulders, "I could make sure you're able to move in the morning." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You like mornings, don't you?" she asked, pressing her lips against his ear.

Spencer didn't reply in words. Instead, she felt him shiver, just a little tremor that moved down his spine.

Adrianna laughed softly, wickedly, as she led him to her bed. She moved out of the way and let him lay down, glad she'd already turned down the heavy quilt. As he sprawled out on the bed, looking up at her, she made a motion with her hand. He obliged and turned over. Adrianna walked around the bed, dug into her nightstand drawer, where she kept a brand new supply of certain things she thought he might enjoy - and that she wanted to try with someone she actually cared about. Among those things was a perennial favourite: a soothing massage oil that could, with a little effort, also be an arousing massage oil.

She poured some of the oil onto her hands, worked it until it was warm, and straddled Spencer.

"What?" he asked, starting to push up and try to turn.

"Shh," she said, smiling as she spoke. "Just relax." She turned her attention to making his arms and legs as limp as cooked spaghetti, but if she did this just right, other pertinent parts of his anatomy would be anything but. And then she would demonstrate what she'd learned about chairs and how it transitioned quite nicely to a horizontal plane.

If he had enjoyed her company and her body before, well, he hadn't experienced anything yet.

CM=-+=-+=-+CM

Derek Morgan tossed down his pen and leaned back in his chair. He rubbed his eyes, a little frustrated, but more tired than anything.

He hated paperwork.

Gracia had invited Seaver and him out for drinks at their favourite bar, but he needed to finish up this paperwork so Hotch could get home at a reasonable hour, and Seaver was acting a little too nervous to go out with them, anyway.

He couldn't figure out what was wrong with her, if not the completely inappropriate assessment Reid's girl had given them regarding sexual preferences.

Drunk pity sex. Ha! The woman had no idea. He was the one doling out the pity, if anyone. Then again, the foxes he found were anything but hard up for company.

Something about that night had been bugging him, though.

Adrianna O'Shaughnessy had taken the moment for a free-for-all, but she had backed off, way off, on Hotch.

What was it she had said? Puritan or unhealthy preferences?

Neither one sounded right, but then, Morgan didn't really try to follow his boss's sex life. His own was busy enough, so he didn't feel the need to try and keep up with anyone else's.

Reid had been highly complimented, Rossi had been dissected in detail - not that the older agent had minded - and Garcia had been pretty much what he'd expected. But he hadn't gotten much of Adrianna's time or attention, and Hotch…Hotch hadn't gotten any to speak of.

Except for that confrontation.

Adrianna hadn't backed down when Hotch stepped up. If anything, she'd made him turn away, and Derek knew that wasn't a good sign.

Maybe he'd see if Garcia could dig up some medical records for Adrianna O'Shaughnessy. That might tell the story a little better than she had that night.

And he needed more information about the woman the kid was sleeping with, if only to make sure the kid didn't get hurt.

Someone had to look out for him.

God knew, the kid couldn't manage it very well on his own.

CM=-+=-+=-+CM

The first touch of the warm oil and soft hands on his back made Spencer sigh. Adrianna smiled. She smoothed over his skin a few times, pressing just lightly enough that he could feel it, but not working into the muscles on his back or shoulders.

"Tell me," she whispered. "What do you like?"

"I-I don't know," Spencer replied, voice soft. "I've never gotten a massage before."

"Never?" Adrianna asked. She sounded surprised, but then, after a moment, she couldn't think why that would surprise her.

"No." Spencer moved once, adjusting the angle of his head and neck to be a little more comfortable.

"Why not?" she asked, knowing full well that there were such things as legitimate massage therapists working in the area.

"I'm…not fond of being touched, not by most people. Or strangers. Or even friends, most of the time." He paused, then added quickly, "Present company excepted."

"Mm." That was true. Then again, given what she knew of his past, that shouldn't be surprise, either. "Well, in that case, I'll only ask you one question: How do you want this to end?"

Spencer was quiet for a long minute. "What, exactly, do you mean?" he asked.

"Do you want to just relax, to go to sleep, or do you want…more?" Maybe her initial plans needed a bit of confirmation first. She didn't want to scare him - or program him to expect what was generally called a 'happy ending' to massage. That could get awkward if he ever needed a chiropractor or massage therapy.

"More…meaning sex?" he clarified, his voice not soft, but not in full Reid-thinking tones, either.

"Meaning sex, or orgasm, if you're not energetic enough for the full ride," she said, pressing more firmly on the muscles next to his spine. For someone so damned skinny, he was bone and muscle. Pretty tight muscle, too - but that could be stress.

"Mmm…" He was quiet a long minute. She waited. When he didn't make a coherent response, she prompted him.

"Made up your mind?" she asked.

"Mmm-hmmm," he managed. Another minute passed. When there was no answer, Adrianna sighed.

She had her answer. He was more tired than she had expected. Better just to turn him into a ragdoll this time.

Next time, well, she'd pick a night that didn't follow a day of work, a workout, and pasta.

CM=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+CM


	12. Tempered

Once a Hooker

a sequel to the fic **To a Hooker**,

both by TarnishedArmour

Timeline: Season 7. By necessity, this is A/U.

Summary: Adrianna had left hooking behind, moved to a new life in Virginia, and renewed her friendship with Spencer Reid. So why is she giving hooker lessons again? *To a Hooker's sequel.

CM=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+CM

Two weeks later…

Adrianna was no longer working at VA Charlotte Hall. It bothered her a little, but this case bothered her a lot more. She wanted to go back to nursing, go back to what she loved doing, but these murders compelled her to her current activities: reading diaries, watching a few videos - she had had excellent teachers, and Phoenix had helped more than she knew with her first clients - trying to find a common link, other than husbands. So far, nothing was helping.

For breaks in the long hours of studying and reading and watching, she worked out with Carl, who had stayed longer than expected. He would be leaving soon, and that was okay with her. Someone else, someone with his social skills, would be coming to join her.

Spencer was still staying with her when he could, frequently coming over after work to review what she had uncovered throughout the day. He was working out with Carl, too, which helped. As predicted, he was a fast learner. Carl even convinced him to go for a jog every day. In just two weeks, she could feel the difference in his endurance and strength. She wondered if she'd know what he felt like in two months - or more. They'd agreed to work out together, to do some very light sparring, when he got back from his current case. Until then, she was alone with memories and diairies and videos and Carl - who helped make it bearable.

Adrianna looked around at her house. The case had effectively taken over everything. And nothing was going right with it. Not one damn thing.

And just to add a 'Fuck You' from Fate, add to all of that, it looked less and less likely that there would be any resolution for this without putting someone in the life.

Two weeks, gone. Pffft. Poof. Just gone. And nothing good was coming out of letting go of her career for the moment - except for passing Jenner's interview. She'd done better on that than expected, and she was quite proud of that. Carl had been her demonstration partner, which made her very comfortable. Actually, that was possibly the one good thing to come out of the case. She was so heartsick over the girls, so desperate for any kind of distraction from the memories, she had studied and practiced more than ever before. As a result, she had read all of the supplementary materials and even looked up a few things in other books and on the Nurse's Aide professional websites. Carl had been more than a little entertained and impressed by the experience, and, if she was right, had a date with Jenner later in the week. She'd pulled off what even Jenner called a miracle. An A on an interview. Just thinking about it brightened her day…until she saw the stacks of videos.

Hell on celluloid. Hell on CD. Some nights, it was difficult to let Spencer near her because she could still feel the hands, the lips, the motion of the others.

"Adia," Carl's voice was soft, but his expression wasn't, "you got a minute?"

"Don't tell me there's been another one," Adrianna began. When he shook his head, she motioned to a chair at her table.

"I need to go back to Vegas on Friday. I'm asking Eliot to come in for me. He'll keep working with Reid, help you get back into fighting trim." He paused, pursed his lips.

"That's not what you came to tell me," Adrianna said, reading his hesitation. He was honest with her in ways that most others weren't.

"No." He sighed heavily. "We got an alert. Someone's been digging for your medical records."

Adrianna went cold. Her records were sealed, mostly because Mrs. Ibsen had some seriously excellent techs who adored her. They were secured, flagged for access information, and almost inaccessible to anyone, but they were at least partially digital, which meant whoever was looking could find a way to get the hardcopies. The story the hardcopies told was not pretty. Multiple fractures, bruises, welts - prostitution was a dangerous business, no matter how careful a girl was.

"Who?" The word almost didn't make it out of her suddenly bone-dry throat.

Carl looked uncomfortable.

"A fed. Traced the feed back to the Hoover Building, and the IP address belonged to a techie called Garcia. Request was put in by an SSA Derek Morgan. There wasn't a warrant, and there's no real reason to get at your records, not that we could track. He's only gotten a few things, but there are references to a hardcopy file, and he might be able to get hold of it. You know we can't completely pull hospitalization records, even if we can…liberate the majority of the information from the premises. But he looked, and there's no forms filled out for this." Carl gave her a significant look. "Means it's off-book, princess. Someone doesn't like you very much, and, as much as he may deserve it, I don't fuck with feds. They cause too much trouble."

"I understand, Carl," Adrianna said, too calmly. She was seething, but she was too good to let it show. "I'll take care of it."

"Ibby's got some good lawyers - "

"That won't be necessary," she snapped. Closed her eyes, breathed. "Please forgive me, Carl. That was quite rude of me. You don't deserve such a response, not for being the messenger."

Carl just nodded. He stood up and turned. Adrianna wasn't paying attention, not until he turned back to her and spoke.

"Be careful, Adia. Whatever is going on with this particular agent, he's not going to take no for an answer. Watch your six." He waited until she nodded, and turned back to the main room.

Adrianna sat perfectly still for several minutes, letting the rage churn inside of her. She breathed in, then out, slowly, hoping to get rid of the urge to beat Derek Morgan within an inch of his life. God knows, she knew how - and how it felt. Finally, at least a little bit under control, it occurred to her that probably no one knew at darling Derek was up to. And that, she could work with. But she wouldn't go empty handed. No. Good guests greased gears with gifts.

Ten minutes later, Adrianna was in her car, heading for the Hoover Building. It hadn't taken long to find out that Morgan was in the building, that he and the team had returned earlier in the afternoon, would be there for the rest of the day, and that they were finishing paperwork for the case they had just finished in Iowa. She hadn't known anything of interest happened in Iowa, but, then, she wasn't really keeping track. Interesting things did occasionally happen at the BAU offices, though, and she was about to contribute to _interesting_ in ways that a certain Supervisory Special Agent wouldn't believe.

The trip was shorter than usual, simply because she ignored the speed limits and took surface streets, avoiding major interchanges. Fortune smiled upon her, so she was without any new transgressions on her record. Inside the lobby, she waited for an agent to walk her up to the BAU and hand her off to Spencer. Instead, she got a surprise.

"Adia," Spencer said, giving her a small smile. "You ready?" He noted the box in her arms. "Should I…?" He wasn't sure if he should ask, mostly because she could be temperamental when it came to assistance, and he was good at his job. He could tell, she was sure, that she was more than a little bit upset.

"No," she managed to say with a smile. "But I do need to use your conference room…just for a little bit?"

He nodded, taking her to the elevator. "Is this about the case?" he asked.

"In a manner of speaking," she said, her smile turning hard and cold. "More of a...an informational meeting." He gave her an odd look. "Just need to talk to one or two of the team, not all of you."

"Adia…" He stopped. The elevator dinged and opened on into the offices of the BAU. He shook his head. Adrianna was glad he didn't pursue the topic. She was expecting to catch hell for what she was about to do, and she wasn't about to apologize when the dust settled. To that end, she didn't include him in the people she needed to talk to in the conference room.

Spencer escorted her in to the conference room, watched as she pulled a few files out of the box next to her. He waited until she looked up.

"Spencer," she started, then stopped. He needed something from her, but she couldn't give it right then. Not what he needed. Certainly not what he wanted. But she could give him something. "There are a few things that need to be addressed - about my…consultations."

"Is there a problem?" he asked, clearly taking the focus upon himself.

"Not in the sense you mean," she replied. "This lies more with…with…one or two others."

"Ah. Who do you need?" Spencer understood the stresses between Adrianna and his team. Rossi enjoyed her, Seaver didn't quite know how to respond to her, Hotch saw her as a necessary annoyance, but one he could work with so long as they remained professionally distant. It was Morgan and Garcia that were not quite as sanguine about her involvement. Morgan didn't like her - which Spencer found odd, given that she was an attractive woman of appropriate age - and Garcia was just uncomfortable around her, most likely due to Adrianna's dissection of the entire team and not her previous occupation.

"Morgan and Garcia," Adrianna said, not considering sugarcoating the request. Spencer would understand. Somehow, he almost always did.

"Okay." With that, he turned and left. Adrianna watched him walk out the door, wondering if there was anything she could do that would make him blink in confusion. She didn't want to think of the reciprocal, but it came to her, unbidden. Was there anything he could do that would make her walk away?

Minutes later, two people walked into the room, one nervously curious, the other barely this side of outright hostile.

"Since you were digging into my medical files," Adrianna said, foregoing any greeting, "I thought I'd save you the trouble. Here are the test records, required by the state of Nevada, and here are the files for each time I've been in the hospital since I was seventeen. You'll find several broken bones listed, as well as some fairly serious internal bleeding, both the direct results of being beaten or assaulted in the course of business. I included this file," she added another to the stack she was creating from the contents of the box, "because it shows reconstructive surgery on my jaw and what happened to my teeth after my jaw was broken a few years ago. These files," she added three more to the stack, "are for minor injuries, again, business related. But I brought something else for you to…enjoy."

Garcia had gone pale, looked like she had been slapped. Morgan was blank, but there was something like anger starting to build in the room.

"Tapes," she said, smiling coldly. "A whole box full of tapes for you to watch and enjoy. Starting with the first night I ever whored. You'll find some interesting watching in there. Of course, it's not exactly the quality film that most would prefer - "

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" barked Morgan.

"What the _hell_ do _you_ think you're doing, accessing _private_ and _confidential_ medical records without cause, jurisdiction, or warrant, _Agent _Morgan?" Adrianna snarled back. "Working for the FBI may be a power trip for you, but it's _not_ a free pass to do whatever the hell you want, whenever you want."

"OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod," Garcia squeaked. "Morgan - Adrianna - I…No!"

"Speak rationally or shut up," Adrianna snapped, eyes not leaving Morgan.

"We were protecting Reid!" she managed.

Adrianna gave her a disgusted look. "What?"

"We were protecting Reid," Garcia repeated, more firmly this time. "He likes you, maybe even loves you, and we don't want him to get hurt."

"And my medical records are somehow the key for Spencer not getting his heart broken?" Adrianna snorted in disbelief. She started walking toward the door. "News flash, sweetheart, _you_, the team here at the BAU, have done more to break his heart than I _ever_ could."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Morgan demanded, whipping around to face her as she reached the door.

"You're the brilliant and well-trained profiler," Adrianna shot back. "You figure it out."

She walked out the door, leaving everything on the table.

Garcia looked at Morgan, who was clearly ramping up to go after the antagonistic woman.

"No, Derek," Garcia said, grabbing his arm.

"Let go of me, Penelope," he growled.

"No! No. We are going to pack that box back up and take it to Reid." She had that stubborn set to her jaw now, and she knew, knew, knew what she had done wrong and how and even why. What she didn't know is if Reid would forgive her for it. She planned to make a full confession, soonest.

"Like hell we are, woman!" Morgan said, turning to look at her. "She brought us what we need - "

"Not what we need. What _you_ need. To get back at her." Garcia was shaking her head. "I won't do that."

"To that bitch - and I do not use that term lightly," Morgan replied, asking more and saying more than he usually did about his reaction to someone he didn't like.

"To Reid." Garcia gave him her kicked puppy look, and Morgan found himself listening harder to what she had to say. "She's right. If we do this - continue to do this - we'll hurt _Reid_. She doesn't care if we know. If we ask, she'll tell us, well, me, since she obviously doesn't like you. But I'm not going to hurt my boy genius. Not even a little bit." Her chin went up. He saw that she was not going to give in on this point, not even for him. One more reason to adore this woman - and did he really just think that? "And I'm not going to let you hurt him, either."

Morgan stared at her for a long time. He felt his shoulders slump as he began to understand how his actions would be interpreted by the younger agent. Not only would he not understand the need to dig so deeply into private matters regarding a consultant, he would be hurt that the team - that he, Morgan - didn't trust the younger agent's judgement about the woman he was seeing, sleeping next to…fucking. And Morgan would not acknowledge that the attraction could be more than sexual in nature. That would imply that he was somehow wrong about Adrianna. He may be wrong about any number of things over his life, but he would never admit he was wrong about this jumped-up piece of tail that had his boy panting and grinning like…like he was a blind man seeing the sun for the first time.

Damn.

"Okay," he finally said. "If you'll give me a minute, pack it up, I'll take it down to Reid." Morgan rubbed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. What was it going to take to get a break from this entire fucked up situation?

CM*CM*CM

Spencer looked up at Morgan, who was holding the box Adrianna had come in with several minutes ago.

"Can I help you, Morgan?" he asked, eyes not leaving the box.

"This needs to go back to Ms. O'Shaughnessey," Morgan replied, offering the box to the younger man.

"Okay," Reid said, taking the box and glancing in it. He went cold, then looked slowly back up at the older agent. "Morgan," he asked, voice too soft and too controlled, "why did Adia bring her medical files and a bunch of video tapes to the BAU?"

No response came. Reid's eyes narrowed. It was the first time in a long time that he felt truly angry. Not upset or hurt, but angry.

"What did you do?" Reid demanded, hissing the question. Morgan flinched, but rallied quickly.

"We were looking into her - "

"_You_, Morgan. _You_ were looking into her…with Garcia's help." Reid's voice rose just enough to catch the attention of others around the office. "It's one thing to doubt the veracity of people we interview, but my judgement? What is it you find so hard to believe, Derek - " Reid noticed the sudden quiet around them, his voice becoming barely audible, " - that she's a good person, or that she's attracted to _me_?"

Morgan took in a breath, started to speak.

"Don't bother," Reid snapped, picking up his bag and shoving his paperwork into Morgan's hands. "Sign these, tell Hotch I'm gone for the day, and don't fucking contact me until Monday." With that, he snatched up the box, shouldered past his friend, and stalked to the elevator.

Morgan had to step to catch his balance, surprised at the sudden aggression from the usually meek and mild, eccentric, Dr. Reid.

"Morgan," the voice from above and behind was not what he needed to hear right now. "My office." Morgan nodded, then turned, papers in hand, to go see his team leader. He saw Garcia already ensconced in a chair in the office, and knew that this was not going to be a pleasant meeting.

CM*CM*CM

Seaver kept her head down while the mini-drama unfolded across from her. The longer she looked at this, the more she saw of it, the more likely it was that she would have to go undercover.

But if the team was fracturing, could she?

Maybe she should just put in for a transfer, save everyone the heartache of a failed op and the slow dissolution of friendships - and that's what the encounter between Morgan and Reid looked like to her.

Then again, what did she know? With her past, she didn't really have many friends, and it was almost impossible to make them here, when no one wanted her around and even fewer people cared what happened to her.

Maybe that was an unfair assessment of the situation, but it was the only one she had.

After all, who could she talk to?

Her eyes drifted to the elevator.

Well, maybe there was one person, even if she wasn't on the team. If she went to Vegas as a high-class hooker, she'd be depending on her anyway.

Ashley Seaver took a deep breath, signed the last of her paperwork, put it in the file, and took it up to Rossi. She was not about to disturb Hotchner and the pair he had in his office right now. As she crossed by the closed door, she heard SSA Hotchner's voice raised for the first time. She shivered.

If he was that intense through solid wood, what was it like to be sitting in front of him?

She decided she never, ever wanted to know.

CM=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+CM

A/N: It's taken a while to get this chapter even this well-behaved, and I'm still not certain it's right. Please review to let me know if it fits - I'm a little too close to see compatability right now. :-)


	13. Reverence

Once a Hooker

a sequel to the fic **To a Hooker**,

both by TarnishedArmour

Timeline: Season 7. By necessity, this is A/U.

Summary: Adrianna had left hooking behind, moved to a new life in Virginia, and renewed her friendship with Spencer Reid. So why is she giving hooker lessons again? *To a Hooker's sequel.

A/N: _Caveat Lector._ And please let me know if the basic _caveat_ is not enough! _Caveat Lector:_ (Lat.) Let the Reader beware!

CM=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+CM

Spencer managed to catch up to Adrianna in the parking lot. She hadn't left, hadn't turned the key and gone. He jogged over to her car and saw her sitting there, staring out the windshield, eyes blank as any witness to a violent crime that he'd seen. She couldn't be in shock - could she?

He tapped on the window, regretting the sound when she jumped a mile and whipped around to stare at him. It took her a second, but she rolled down the window and he could see her eyes clearly. It wasn't shock, but she was hurting. He had no idea why, though.

"Open the door?" he asked, lifting the box a little so she could see it. She paled when she saw it, and Spencer was loathe to assign a reason for it. She nodded to the passenger's side of the car, unlocked the door, and leaned over to open the passenger's door. He slid into the seat, not letting go of the box. Spencer studied her for a long minute. "Drive to my place. I'm off until Monday."

"Are you sure you want me there?" she asked, not looking at him as she started the car.

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked, voice soft.

Adriann had no response to that. She just pulled out of her space and drove to his apartment, wondering what Carl would think of the sudden change.

CM=-+=-+=-+CM

SSA Aaron Hotchner stared at the two in front of him. He had been over the many, many ways they had broken, not only protocol, but his own high expectations of professionalism. No matter how many times he had seen this variation on the theme, it seemed that the main reason people on his team did something stupid was Spencer Reid - and he was definitely one of the guilty parties.

"Hotch, I realize I overstepped the boundaries - " Morgan began.

"Do you?" Hotch asked, voice now only weary. "Morgan, if Ms. O'Shaughnessey decides to press the issue, _I cannot protect you_. You will no longer be part of the BAU, and you may be barred from employment with any government or law-enforcement agency in the U.S. Private security firms would probably refrain from hiring you." He didn't add that Strauss was still looking for a reason, an excuse, to remove him from the BAU and break apart the team even more.

"I don't think that will be a problem," Garcia finally said, her voice smaller and meeker than Hotch had ever heard before.

"Garcia, I understand you have an incredible sense of empathy, but this situation is particularly volatile, dependent entirely upon the most likely human behaviours for someone who has been wounded and then had those wounds split open and shoved in her face." That analogy was lacking, but it got the point across adequately, and adequate was all he had left right now.

"But I do understand, sir," Garcia replied, calling Hotch sir for the first time in years. "She was upset, and instead of calling you or anyone else, she threw it back in our faces. It was…a warning shot. Across the bow, like. And we returned everything to her, without looking at it." She bit her lip, then blurted, "We're just so worried about Reid getting hurt…"

"As deceptive as appearances may be, Spencer is an adult and has the skills and knowledge to handle any emotional entanglements or fallout that his relationship with Ms. O'Shaughnessey may bring. What he does not have," Hotch said, some of his irritation leaking through, "is the ability to pull your asses out of the fire." Hotch sighed. He should apologize for that last, but he just couldn't make himself do it. "Finish your reports, get them to me before you leave."

Garcia stood and walked out, Morgan only a step behind her.

"Morgan," Hotch said before he left the office. The younger man turned to look at him. "Leave Reid alone until Monday. Even if you don't think _he_ meant it, _I _do."

Morgan hesitated a moment, then nodded. There was nothing else to do in the face of a direct order.

As the door closed to the office, Hotchner was faced with the potential of having to personally apologize to a woman that had gotten under his skin in a most unpleasant way. Mostly because…she had been right.

Minutes later, a knock at his door had him grinding his teeth.

"Enter," he said.

"So," Rossi said, tipping his head to the side in that annoying way he had, "everything okay?"

"No," Hotch replied, considering telling Rossi what had happened. "But I believe the worst has been resolved, as much as it can be."

"It's Adrianna, isn't it?" Rossi pushed.

Hotch scrubbed his face with one hand. He was beginning to understand what everyone griped about when the profilers came to town. It was damned annoying to be read so easily - although only Adrianna and Rossi had the ability to read him so far.

In response, Hotch nodded. He added, "And the fear that Reid may not be able to handle it if things go badly with her."

Rossi snorted. "He could probably handle things better than any of us. He just looks like he's twelve." Rossi pursed his lips, then walked in and sat down. "You know, I had a problem with him at first - he looked so damned young, too young, to be part of the Bureau, much less the BAU. But I've realized something over the years, especially after we dealt with that mess in Vegas. He's never really been a child. When it comes to adulthood, adult reactions and responsibilities, he's as old as we are - well, as you are. I still have a few years on him there."

Hotch leaned back in his chair, listening. "Go on."

"I wonder, sometimes…" Rossi hesitated. When Hotch motioned for him to continue, he finished, slowly, "I wonder if the kid isn't playing us sometimes, letting us think he doesn't get it, when he does, and most likely at a deeper level than we do."

After a long moment, eyes narrowed in thought, Hotch nodded. "I think you may have something there," he replied.

For several long minutes, the two men shared a quiet rapport, letting memories of Reid's actions and reactions filter through their thoughts. Whey they looked at one another again, there was a mutual agreement in effect: Whether Reid was playing them or not, they would let him be who and what he was - even if it meant he got hurt every now and again. It was the least they could do for the younger man, and possible the most respectful way of handling someone that was light-years beyond them in sheer ability.

As Rossi closed the door behind him, Hotch realized that, despite the resolution and recognition of Reid's abilities, watching the young man get hurt would, to echo Seaver's memorable outburst of a several weeks before, totally suck.

CM=-+=-+=-+CM

Spencer walked into his apartment, carrying the box of files and tapes. He put the box and his messenger's bag down by the door and waited for Adrianna to come out of whatever mental fantasyland she was in. Whatever it was called, it was not a good place for her to be.

"I…guess I owe you an explanation," Adrianna managed to say, her voice shaky.

"Not really," Spencer replied, honest as ever with her. "I figured out what happened. It wasn't exactly difficult." He walked up behind her, but didn't touch her. Not yet.

Adrianna gave a soft laugh. "Guess not." She felt him behind her. When had she started being able to feel him when he was near? When he was coming to see her? Was that normal? "I…I don't know…what to do," she whispered.

"You don't have to _do_ anything," Spencer said, now wrapping his arms around her, letting her lean back against him. He refrained from propping his chin on top of her head, instead leaning down just enough that his cheek was next to her temple. "Unless you want to."

Adrianna shuddered lightly, not sure what she wanted, what she felt, what she needed. If she needed. But his hands were warm against her belly, and his body was long and lean against her - was it wrong to want to be touched like she was human? Not like she was a thing, a fantasy-come-true, but a woman? To have him touch her the way he always had?

She turned in his arms, settling her hands at his hips. She tipped her face up, lifted onto her toes, and kissed him lightly. It was a question, a request…and she had no idea how he would answer.

Spencer's lips opened slightly, and, instead of letting her choose the direction of the next few moments, he took the lead. He was a gentle lover, and he would let her lead as much as he would suggest or gently ask with a few touches if something was okay - but he hadn't really taken the lead before. Not the way he was now. His touch wasn't asking, but commanding. He wasn't the shy lover any more. He was every bit the master artist she had painted him to be...was it only two weeks ago? Every ounce of his attention, ability, understanding caressed her as he touched her. Something in her protested vaguely as her body bent to his will, but that protest was summarily dismissed as everything in her accepted submission to him. There was no force, no orders. No, this was the submission of the worshipped, bending to the touch, the lips, the pure physical presence of her priest.

"Just relax," he whispered, hands sliding over her body as she shivered from something she didn't quite understand. When his lips brushed her ear, her neck, she just let go, trusting him to keep her from breaking. She wasn't keeping track of how she got into his bed, how she lost articles of clothing between the door and the soft mattress that was now under her body, how he had both removed his own clothes and covered her body with his.

All she knew was this man was treating her as reverently as ever - and she could do nothing about it.

She didn't realize tears were slipping from her eyes until after he was inside her, whispering to her to let go, to hold on, to just feel. And she did. She _felt_.

And it terrified her.

She felt him over her, inside her, pulling her into a sensual web she couldn't escape - that she didn't want to escape. She felt lost, found, helpless, worshipped, wanted, needed - and she didn't know what to do. What to say. Where to put her hands or her legs. If she should speak or stay silent or just let him hear her pleasure. All she knew was this was real.

Spencer's lips ghosted over her neck, making her arch up into him, mystified by this change in him, by her inability to respond in the many, many ways she'd learned. As the pressure, the pleasure, grew in her, she felt more and more adrift, like she was going to be lost forever in a sea that she hadn't known existed.

Until he pulled her back. She shivered and convulsed around him, and his voice, softly chanting her name, called her back to him. To reality.

She held him as he came apart in her arms.

When their eyes met, they knew nothing - and everything - had changed.

This time, she was okay with that.

This time, so was he.

He relaxed over her. She wouldn't let him move, content to be surrounded by him, to feel his weight on her.

Adrianna closed her eyes and sighed softly in satiated wonder. She felt him exhale slowly, snuggle into her. Sleep claimed them before they could voice any thoughts, before they could snap this strange, fragile thing that stretched between them.

Tomorrow was soon enough to deal with the box of pain that waited by the door.

CM=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+CM


	14. Morning

Once a Hooker

a sequel to the fic **To a Hooker**,

both by TarnishedArmour

Timeline: We have passed there now, in real time. This was about the same time as episodes 3-4 of season 7. By necessity, this is still A/U.

Summary: Adrianna had left hooking behind, moved to a new life in Virginia, and renewed her friendship with Spencer Reid. So why is she giving hooker lessons again? *To a Hooker's sequel.

CM=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+CM

In the morning, Adrianna woke up slowly, body and mind still rocked by the events of the previous day. Spencer had surprised her. She felt him next to her, still asleep by the rhythm of his breathing and heavy limbs. When he draped over her like this, she didn't like to move much because he snuggled so sweetly - he didn't push or demand, but seemed grateful that she let him touch her, even in their sleep.

Maybe he was.

Maybe she was.

Her eyes traced a path around the room, paused at a gold-wrapped box. He hadn't opened his present, or, if he had, he had carefully rewrapped the box so that no one could tell. Was she supposed to be insulted by that? Or was it just something indefinably Spencer? He moved beside her, a little stretch followed by a grumble.

"Good morning," she whispered, voice rusty from sleep.

"Mm. Good morning," he murmured, kissing her ear, then her shoulder. He didn't wait for her to encourage his attention, but set about pleasing them both. Adrianna moved with him, teased him in return, but he was still unquestionably the dominant force this morning. Whatever had changed between them hadn't faded while they slept. Adrianna noted it, but didn't think about it much, not when those lips and hands were doing such amazing things - certainly not when he slid inside her and established a rhythm that she found more than a little compelling. A minute or so later, she abandoned thought for feeling, responding to Spencer's moves and unspoken demands. She had never really pictured him as a dom, but he was certainly exhibiting some of the signs, in his own unique way.

Later, when they were sheened with sweat and breathing hard in the aftermath of the morning wake-up call, Adrianna decided she like Spencer to take control. He wasn't a true dominant about it, but he certainly didn't let her lead when he did. They adjusted to one another, but he was the guide, the one who determined exactly what would happen, and when. As always, she had very little to complain about.

The sex had always been good between them. They both knew too much about anatomy for it to be bad, but that didn't mean it was effortless. They took their time, explored, tried to find and memorize all the good things that they could do to one another. And now this. Adrianna still couldn't complain, but this was definitely not what she preferred when it came to sex. She was used to leading. After years of ensuring her safety through different methods of dominance plays, she had gone submissive. It hadn't felt wrong. Not physically. Emotionally…no. It wasn't her usual reaction to sex with Spencer. It hadn't been just sex, not even their favourite description: physical friendship. It had been more. It _was_ more. That was a reason to worry.

"Hey," Spencer said, running a finger lightly down her cheek. "What's wrong?"

Adrianna shook her head. How could she explain that she had just become emotionally involved? He hadn't, not that she could tell, and then there was the whole team to deal with - oh, now that was a clusterfuck.

Spencer's eyes narrowed as he propped on one arm to look at her. He studied her face, the furrow between her brows, the way she wouldn't look at him.

"You aren't going to try to run away, are you?" he asked.

"From what?" she replied, not wanting to admit that was exactly what she had been thinking about.

"From this. From us." He paused. "From me."

That was the problem. The way he said those last two words. So little, those words. So short. But the pain of being left behind, first by his father, then my his mother's illness, then by everyone who'd known him, who had been his age - even by his FBI team, in their own ways, on a daily basis. She couldn't just leave him. Couldn't run. Not when she knew how much it hurt to be the one left to pick up the pieces alone.

"No," she whispered. "I was thinking about it." Honesty was the only policy between them. "But I can't." She turned to face him, propped up on her arm, even though she didn't feel like she needed to force equality between them again. She just wanted to see his face clearly. Without the wonky angles that laying in bed tended to render. "Everything's off. Morgan and Garcia know a lot now, and you know what's in that box, and, damnit, I told myself I wouldn't cry…" The tears began to fall now. Now, after the shock was gone and the body was loose and the mind had nothing else to do but think.

Spencer's arms wrapped around her, pulled her close. She rested on his shoulder, pressed against his side, half on him. He stroked her hair, whispered in her ear to let it out, let it go, and never once told her not to cry.

It only made her cry harder.

It took time for her to calm down again, to remember how much he had given her with his time and tenderness. She finally managed to smile through the tearstains on her cheeks and the puffiness of her eyes. She moved away a bit.

"We need to get up," she said, hand sliding over his chest, every motion of her body telling him she didn't want to. "Eat. Get dressed."

"We can eat," he murmured, catching her hand and tugging her back, "but I'd prefer to spend more time here, in bed." He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it, a little open-mouth kiss that reminded her of exactly how talented his mouth and tongue were. The soft little lick promised so much.

To her.

A hooker. Former hooker or not, she was still tarnished by that profession. Stained. Corrupted.

What was she doing to Spencer?

"Hey," he caught her attention again, pulled her gaze back to his own. "Whatever you're thinking, stop. You haven't hurt me. If anything, knowing me and my team has hurt you. You can't hurt me, Adia, not the way you're thinking." She tried to give him a small smile, and it mostly worked. "I don't care what's in the past, or in that box, or in my idiot BAU team member's heads." He took a breath and said something she almost didn't understand. "I do care that you were hurt, and I never, ever want to see that look on your face again. Not if I can prevent it."

Adrianna saw the honesty of the words reflected in his eyes. Still so sweet. Not innocent - never that. He had always been too old to be innocent.

She nodded.

He couldn't call it love. Neither could she. And it wasn't that fairy-tale romance, either. But it was real. And it was theirs.

When it came down to it, nothing else mattered.

A/N: Yes, I know it's short. But dealing with the morning after had to be done in its own chapter, just as the night had to be its own. And don't get too excited - recognizing an emotional connection isn't the same as acting on it in the standard, societally prescribed manner. This _is_ Spencer after all.


	15. History as Predictor

Once a Hooker

a sequel to the fic **To a Hooker**,

both by TarnishedArmour

Timeline: Season 7. By necessity, this is A/U.

Summary: Adrianna had left hooking behind, moved to a new life in Virginia, and renewed her friendship with Spencer Reid. So why is she giving hooker lessons again? *To a Hooker's sequel.

A/N: _Caveat Lector._ And please let me know if the basic _caveat_ is not enough! _Caveat Lector:_ (Lat.) Let the Reader beware!

CM=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+CM

Breakfast was more like lunch, and they ate in bed. Afterward, they curled together and Spencer waited for her to speak. He waited a very long time. Adrianna had long since learned that silence was a friend.

In silence, one could feel the situation much more clearly. In silence, pushy people didn't know what to do. In silence, she could regain her sense of balance.

But it wasn't working quite right this time. Spencer understood silence all too well, and he was content to wait. As they lay there, his mind roamed in more directions than Adrianna could have imagined, from complex mathematical equations to philosophical ramblings of diseased and rational minds, to the question of which comic 'verse was actually the most realistic, to the best present to get for Seaver for her birthday in a few months, back to complex mathematics, and many points in between.

Occasionally, lips and hands and other body parts would slide or caress, but the day was more about simply enjoying the lack of stimulation.

"I don't know why all of it bothers me," Adrianna suddenly said, the first full sentence from either of them in hours. "I know what I did. I was pretty well-known out in the desert. A lot of men and no few women would recognize me. But _them_ knowing…" She didn't finish the sentence.

"You started a new life here, and it didn't involve anything from the old one. You left everything behind in the desert, and, by rights, you shouldn't have had to deal with it again - at least, not like this. The occasional moment of surprise wouldn't be unexpected -" Adrianna laughed at that and Spencer nipped at her ear. "As I was saying…"

"Don't," she teased, then turned in his arms. "Don't," This time, her voice was soft and her eyes held something he didn't want to identify. Instead of letting him ask, she kissed him. From there, she took control. He let her.

It lasted as long as they wanted, with the predictable pleasure at the end.

"How do you do it?" she murmured watching him breathe as he lay beside her, that incredible mind of his pleasantly zeroed out in the aftermath of orgasm.

"Pretty much standard equipment, so not much different from anyone else, I guess," he replied, thinking she was referring to the mechanics of sex.

"No. You were in control. Just now, you completely let go. How can you change so quickly?"

He shrugged. "It just seemed right. Isn't that what it's about? Making everything feel right?"

Adrianna thought about it for a while and nodded. "I guess."

"Of course, it could be all about the Hokey Pokey," he offered, mind still not completely engaged.

"Somehow," Adrianna giggled, "I doubt the lyricist had this in mind when he wrote body parts being put in and pulled out."

Spencer laughed, eyes closed. "I will never hear that song again without people asking me what the big grin is for."

"If you use your vocabulary well and describe the physical movements and include a few equations, you could have one hell of a dirty joke."

"I'll be sure to include it in my next paper. I even have a title. 'The Societal and Biological Parameters of Friction and Motion as Applied to the Repetitive Expectations Inherent in the Hokey Pokey and Extrapolated to Its Logical Conclusion.' I would, of course, include insertion of tab A into slot B somewhere."

"Hopefully into slot B," Adrianna laughed.

"Too obvious," he replied, grinning. "Somewhere between stimulation of the auditory portions of the brain and the reactive properties of the body when said stimulation excites the rhythmic capabilities of the anatomy." He turned over to face her and propped his chin in her stomach. "If you would assist with the research… "

"I think we've already done a lot of research," she replied, dryly. "Very enjoyable research." He kissed her belly as she ran her fingers through his hair. She looked around the room and saw the gold-wrapped box again. "Is there a reason you haven't opened your birthday present?"

Spencer looked at her sheepishly. "I could say it's because we got busy with this case, but…it has to do with Heisenberg."

"Heisen… The Uncertainty Principle?" She looked confused.

"Or maybe Schrodinger."

"The cat?" He looked even more embarrassed. Adrianna thought for several minutes. He hadn't explained. There were times that he just couldn't bring himself to tell her something the minute she asked, and it was usually because he had overthought a simple concept - like birthday presents. She always worked to figure out his way of thinking, and sometimes she even managed to get it right.

"Okay," she said slowly, "Heisenberg's principle had to do with not knowing what or where everything is at any given time, especially when you can't observe it, which means that what's in the box is unobserved and therefore…unknown. Schrodinger's cat could be alive or dead, so technically was both because the box was closed…" She shook her head. "Sorry, Spencer, you got me on this one."

"I-It could be anything. It could be something that - that unfolds or expands past the parameters of the box. It could be valuable or precious or rare. It could be something simple that I would understand and like - right now, your gift could be anything." He blushed. "I-I've been enjoying the possibilities too much to open it."

Adrianna smiled. "Okay." He looked up at her, not certain what she meant. When he saw the smile on her face, he gave her a tentative smile in return.

"You're not mad?" he asked. Anyone else would have been. The team wouldn't understand. They liked to have their thoughtfulness acknowledged - when they were thoughtful. In their defense, he had to admit that was most of the time. On the other hand, they didn't really understand him. Neither did Adrianna, but she tried. She looked at things from a different point of view, heavily influenced by the way she had lived and simply had to accept people as they were in order to do business. She took him as he was, even when she didn't understand. Even when he didn't understand his own mind, she accepted him.

"How could I be?" she said, stroking his hair. "It's your present. If you want to wait, or simply leave it as it is and enjoy the possibility that it's a just-add-water-grow-your-own Pterodactyl kit, it's up to you."

Spencer watched her eyes, saw the brightness of laughter in them, and misunderstood.

"You think I'm being silly," he said, turning away. He moved away, trying not to show her how much it hurt.

"No," she said. "No. It's not funny." She slid her arms around him, pressing her body to his back, her lips at his neck, shoulder, ear. "Not funny, but..Spence, it's so _you_. The idea that my present, even unwrapped, is such a source of pleasure to you…it's sweet." As she spoke she could feel his muscles growing more tense. "I'm not saying this right." She took a breath, moved beside him, and turned his shoulders so he would look at her.

"My present made you happy. I like that. The fact that simply the idea of my present and what could be in it keeps you happy - it's sweet. And cute." She bit her lip. "And a little sad. And I didn't mean to upset you, Spence. I'm sorry." She touched his face as he nodded, kissed her palm. "I want to give you more presents, Spence. Have there really been so few of them in your life that this one is that important to you?"

The sad little smile she got was answer enough. She felt her eyes tear up.

"Don't pity me," he said, pulling away again.

"Not pity, Spence. Never, between us." She couldn't stop the tears from falling, even though she tried. "You're just so damned wonderful…it hurts to think other people can't see that." She didn't specify who the others were. Then again, she didn't have to.

"I don't let them see a lot of it," he murmured, moving closer now. "They see what I let them. I'm still pretty good at keeping my thoughts and feelings under wraps. Even around the team." He wrapped his arms around her, felt her tears, as few as they were, on his skin. He didn't like the feeling, but he did. She was crying for him. He couldn't remember anyone in his life who had cried for him. It was sad, but it felt good that she cared that much.

"You shouldn't have to," she murmured, kissing his shoulder. She looked up at him, fierce and sad. "Especially after all the time you've spent together, _they_ should get it."

He kissed her, lips soft against hers. "They can't," he whispered, eyes gentle and sad. "Not many can."

"Guess that includes me," she replied, watching his face, his eyes, for that strange embarrassment he seemed to feel about his abilities.

"Sometimes," he admitted. "But you try. And - and you just accept me as I am. You don't want me to be anything other than what I am. Who I am." His fingers brushed a few strands of hair from her face. "That matters more." It wasn't a ringing endorsement for future bliss, but he was right. In return, he tried to understand her. When she occasionally needed time away from everyone, or to keep elements of her past to herself…or simply to enjoy a walk in the sun with him, no talking or touching, he tried to understand why.

"I hope so," she murmured. This time, the kiss lasted longer, and they lay back down on the bed to enjoy it without concentrating on sitting up. Eventually, the kiss ended, and they curled together again under the sheets.

C=-+=-+=-+M

"I have to go in tomorrow," Spencer said, kissing her wet shoulder. His hands slid over her soapy skin. The shower together, something she occasionally did in the past, was much more fun with Spencer.

"Is that your way of asking me if I'll be okay?" she replied, tipping her head to give him better access.

"Mm. Maybe," he replied, licking the rivulets from her shoulder and neck. "Y'know, I'm beginning to like water as a beverage."

Adrianna just laughed.

Even though the water cooled down, they didn't notice. They were too busy keeping the mirrors fogged.

C=-+=-+=-+M

The box sat in the corner by the door, accusing her of intransigent silence. She had to ask.

"Spence," he looked at her, "is there anything you want to see from the box? Anything you need to know?"

He thought for a long minute, giving the question the consideration it deserved.

"The longer it takes," he answered slowly, "the more likely it seems that someone will have to go undercover. Most likely, it will be Seaver." He waited a minute more. She could see his eyes flicking from side to side, processing. "I doubt she has had much experience, and she is very shy of men, even now. Any rebellious stages she had were scared out of her by her father - he was a serial killer and terrorized his family, even though he never actually hurt _them_ - and she was too intent on mental and emotional healing to pursue extracurricular activities of a sexual nature in high school or college. She tends to professionalism and distance now…" He paused again, chewed a mouthful of pizza, and swallowed. "So yes, there are a few things I need to know," he finally said. "Not nearly as much as is in that box, but there are some things. I think you could tell me, though, if you're still willing to help."

Adrianna sighed. "I had hoped that putting someone in the life wouldn't be necessary. I'd rather put Morgan in it - at least he'd enjoy it. Of course, he'd get a lot of solicitation from males, but he should be grounded enough to handle that. Is he?"

Spencer was quiet. "Adia, we don't usually discuss the team -" she looked away and down, understanding she had asked something taboo. "Let me finish?" She nodded. "But with what Hotch is asking from you if Seaver does go undercover, and what you would need to know about us as your backup, I can tell you a few things. No, Morgan couldn't handle the men. JJ could have done this, and Emily, but she wouldn't have that young and fresh look that JJ and Seaver have, physically. JJ, well, she's got this look in her eyes… It would be harder on her than she would want to admit. Rossi couldn't pass because he's too alpha male and too famous. The customers would think I'm a sub, and I'm not sure I would be able to function with a male." He stopped there.

Adrianna nodded. "Garcia is a tech and Hotch is the team leader, therefore unavailable for any extended undercover work."

"And the Bureau is still pretty Catholic. There are limits to what kind of undercover work is considered acceptable and what is not. This particular case definitely crosses that line, but the victims…" He shook his head. "Simply getting Seaver into place would require a lot of concessions from on high, and I'm not sure those will be forthcoming. Not very soon, anyway."

Adrianna was quiet for a long minute. "All right. One of the biggest things you need to know is that it's not about sex. It's about the fantasy. I didn't understand that at first. Even with Phoenix and the others telling me to work on selling the fantasy, I didn't get it for a while. Yeah, there was fantasy involved, but mostly the men I had at first wanted the sex. Later, when I learned from Master Thorn about some of the bondage plays - and I tolerate them, but I don't really get into it the way Phoenix did - I began to understand. It wasn't until almost the first year was up that I really understood the difference in sexuality and fantasy. For the first time, I was paid for the fantasy of something, not for any actual sex or sexual play.

"He was older. He wanted something from his wife that he couldn't get. He couldn't even tell her what he wanted. He was in Vegas, and he met me. We talked. We went up to his room. We talked more. He told me his fantasy, and I made it happen. It took a few calls, but," she shrugged. "A few months later, his wife called. She was in Vegas while he was on another business trip, and she had been upset when she found the charge to my account. So we met. I told her what had happened. They sent me a thank-you card a year or so later. He had wanted something so much that he had booked my services, she had tracked me down ready to divorce him, and they ended up happier than ever." She shrugged. "That was a good memory. There are others like that."

"I would imagine there are other memories that are the opposite," he murmured.

"Yes, but most are simply hear-fantasy-fulfill-fantasy, and most revolve around sex. Some are sweet. Some are funny. Some involve fictional characters. Some involve intimate voyeurism. Some are hands-on, some aren't. All of it is about taking a few hours and letting them become something special, something beyond the ordinary." She smiled wryly. "But most of what's in that box is about sex, fantasies aside."

"So if Seaver can sell the fantasies - " Spencer began.

Adrianna shook her head. "No. That's the atypical night. The typical night involves fucking and sucking and in general being a living blow-up doll. Yes, you're allowed your own emotions and desires, but the john's the one who gets those desires fulfilled. The rest is all mechanics and technique." She gave him a calm, distant look. "It's the exact opposite of what we enjoy together. Neither one of us dominates to the point the other's desires are ignored." She touched his hand, willing him to understand.

"I've had a lot of bad sex and as much mediocre sex. A few really did a lot, and a few times I think they knew I was faking, but they go what they wanted, the way they wanted, where and how and when they wanted. A little faking was acceptable."

"I…don't understand." He waited.

"Come with me," she said, standing. Dinner was through. It was time for her to show him what he couldn't imagine. "Remember your first?"

"Yeah. I was at CalTech. She was a junior. I was sixteen…" His voice trailed off as he remembered the incredible sweetness of those nights and days with his first lover.

"Just remember that," she said softly, slipping a tape into his VCR. She cued up the video and he sat in silence as he watched a much younger, much more innocent Adrianna take her first steps into the life she would live for the next six years. When the video was finished, he looked over at her, wanting to say something, but knowing that nothing would be sufficient. Her eyes were calm, and somehow ancient. Even though the black-and-white film had shown everything in old film noir shades of grey, the truth of the encounter was still clear, in colour.

Everything had been about the business of sex. Fantasy aside, the girlish dream of a romantic, adept lover aisde, Adrianna's experience had been light-years away from his own.

And that was what Seaver would be doing, by her own choice, for the team. He couldn't justify asking her to let go of something so precious just to do her job. He sat next to Adrianna on his couch, not touching her, not looking at the blank screen anymore, but seeing the results of that kind of, well, sacrifice in front of him.

Spencer was quiet for a long time.

CM=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+CM


	16. Change Is

Once a Hooker

a sequel to the fic **To a Hooker**,

both by TarnishedArmour

Timeline: Season 7. By necessity, this is A/U. (It was A/U when 7 started; it's Extreme AU now…)

Summary: Adrianna had left hooking behind, moved to a new life in Virginia, and renewed her friendship with Spencer Reid. So why is she giving hooker lessons again? *To a Hooker's sequel.

A/N: _Must ask forgiveness. _Okay, this isn't a crossover fic and it's not going to be, but I just had to bring another character that I love into it. He was just perfect for the replacement for Carl. NO, this is not a crossover. The plot of the other show allows for long times when the group is not together (up to more than 6 months apart!), and that is what I'm taking advangtage of. A long hiatus. The fact that he's a character from another show doesn't make it a crossover. More of a…temporary relocation.

Spencer returned to work on Monday, the questions about Seaver's ability to handle going undercover in Vegas seething around the edges of his brain. Most of his brain was occupied with analyzing case files and traffic patterns and the probability of receiving the largest hot mocha that his favourite coffee shop served without waiting in line for more than three minutes. He calculated said probability as very low, but not statistically impossible.

It was Seaver that bothered him most. She said she was still game, affirmed it more than once, even though the demonstration of a hooker's profiling prowess had been more thorough than any of the team had expected.

And then, there with him now, all the time, there was Adrianna. He knew she was going home, that Carl was going back to Vegas and another security man was coming out to stay with her. He wanted to be there to meet the man, to see who-what-was coming to replace Carl. Whoever it was, he was planning to continue working out with Adrianna, at least, if not the new instructor.

Adrianna sighed and opened the door to her apartment. She froze at the shadow on the wall. A man was there. Not Carl. Definitely not Spencer. She tensed, spine tightening, stomach knotting, purse sliding down her arm. Where could she throw the box-damn, it was too heavy to use as a projectile. Needed to get rid-

"Too relaxed, Pretty," he said, his voice soft in the silence.

Her spine melted. "Eliot," she breathed, slumping as she closed the door behind her. "You scared me."

"Good," he replied, coming into the light. Despite sharing a name, he was nothing like Spencer. He was maybe 5'10", stocky, and, while intelligent, his training was less academic and more strategic/tactical. He could kill a man and be gone before the man knew he was dead. He was terrifying. She had seen him back a much bigger man down with a look, a whisper of introduction. He called her "Pretty."

Strong arms wrapped around her and she breathed in the scent of an old friend.

"I heard what was happening. Ibby asked me to stay with you so Carl could go back and keep the guys in line. Some of them are pretty jumpy." From Eliot, that was tantamount to a declaration of complete chaos and insubordination. Adrianna nodded against his shoulder.

"It's bad, Eliot," she whispered. "Phoenix is dead. Pepper. Candy. So many others…" She swallowed. "Did you bring any files?"

"Too many." He released her and smiled down at her, his eyes taking in everything about her. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she managed. "As okay as I can be. I can't really say a lot. The FBI is investigating the deaths as the work of a serial killer. I'm…consulting. I may be consulting even more in a month or so, if things keep going…and…" She took a deep breath, saying in a rush, "I may have to sell a girl into the life to get someone undercover to catch the bastard who's killing us off."

"Damn," he said. She didn't know what he was thinking, how many ways FBI involvement was not good for him. "Pretty, I need to make a call. I made lunch." With that, he disappeared into her bedroom, phone to his ear. She couldn't even hear him walk, much less the soft whisper of his voice. Not soft, exactly, more a low rasp.

She walked over to the kitchen and smiled as she looked down. Eliot did love to cook, despite his tough-guy life. He'd cooked for her more than once when she'd been hurt before. He'd held her for hours, late at night; sponged her down when she couldn't bathe from the stitches and the cast; kissed her forehead and murmured that everything would be okay when she woke up from nightmares. Eliot was terrifying, if he needed to be. Never for her. Not even once.

"We have enough information to begin preparing a cover for Agent Seaver," Hotchner was telling one Erin Strauss, the epic bureaucratic pain in his ass. "The specifics of her time undercover will need to be worked out, but the data and profile all point out the need to have an asset in place in Las Vegas."

"I'll take it under advisement. The techs can begin preparing her backstory, but this is a demeaning assignment, Aaron. Is Agent Seaver volunteering, or do you want to be rid of her that badly?"

"Agent Seaver's inexperience and youth are points that generally work against her. The other aspects of her knowledge of serial killers is beneficial, though not beyond the realm of what the team was doing." Hotchner paused. "She is too young to successfully build rapport with the victims who survived, particularly those who survived sexual abuse as part of their torment. She is not entirely an asset, nor is she entirely a detriment to the work we do. As such, spending time undercover will change her ability to work in the field, perhaps with the team. I cannot predict how."

"So whoring might be good for her," Strauss shook her head, seemingly bemused. "Background only, Aaron." Hotchner took that as a dismissal. When he was at the door of her office, she added, "And I'd like to meet the consultant she'd be taking instruction from."

Hotchner looked back at her, nodded once, and opened the door, grateful to escape. Had anyone been in the hallway outside Strauss's office, they would have seen a rare smile curve his lips, eyes bright with humour. Strauss vs. O'Shaughnessey. He absolutely wanted to be there to introduce the unbending deputy director to the former prostitute. His smile faded as he considered the fallout. Perhaps he would be called away moments after the introduction was made.

No, Rossi should make the introductions. Strauss still seemed to have a thing for the older agent…

Seaver stared out the window of her car. She was to go over to the technical offices to get new identification papers made, just in case she had to go undercover, effective immediately. She wasn't with the team, going over the latest case; she wouldn't make the plane if they went wheels-up. She couldn't bring herself to start the car.

Knots cramped her stomach, she felt what breakfast she had eaten try to crawl out of her small intestine-lunch wasn't going to happen and it was already after noon. Hands surprisingly steady, she lifted her cell and punched in Spencer's number.

"Reid," came the calmly factual voice on the other end of the line.

"It's Ashley. Seaver, I mean." She was rattled enough that she wasn't even making sense. "I need…can I…" She took a breath. "I need Adrianna's number."

Reid waited a long moment before replying. "You're going under." His voice was oddly flat. Probably the line. Reid's voice was never flat, not like Morgan's could be.

"Preparing for it. Might not happen." Seaver had to believe that. Had to. She didn't know why, but she had to believe it. "I.D., background…that's what I'm supposed to do right now."

Reid read out the number, told her a lie about a long lunch with a friend from college, and advised her to call once she was with the techs. That would be believable. The techs she needed weren't on Quantico, but in an old office building outside D.C., a thirty-minute drive at least. To clear security, even with a badge and standing orders, would take another ten. That was enough time.

"Thanks, Reid. I… Thanks."

"You're welcome," he replied. She hadn't needed to say how scared she was, how glad he was willing to give her a lifeline. It was there in her voice, in the fact she'd called him and not Morgan or Rossi. She did not want to do this. He knew she would, though, if it was necessary.

She disconnected the call and started her car. For the first time in a long time she wondered why she'd been so hot to join the profilers.

"I understand," Adrianna said, her voice soft as the delicious lunch turned to ashes on her tongue. "I'll walk her through it."

"You can't go down there. It's a secure building."

"Relax, Spence. The front door isn't the only way in."

"Adia-" she could hear the frown in his voice.

"Everything will be fine. You're not the only person I know with federal connexions, remember?" It was as gentle a reminder as she could manage. Eliot looked up at her and his eyes were suspicious. "She'll need me there to keep someone from becoming too inventive, Spencer. Please, trust me?"

"I do," he replied, voice soft. "Do me a favour, though," he added, humour shaking his even voice, "don't tell me how you manage to break into the technical offices."

Adrianna laughed. "Call me Mata Hari," she replied. "See you tonight?" she asked.

"We're wheels up by three," he apologized.

"That's okay. Come by when you're done. The new guy is here."

"Mm. I liked Carl."

"You'll like Eliot even more. Promise. He'll throw you just as gently as Carl."

"Evil woman," Spencer groaned, remembering one of those 'gentle' throws. Bruises for someone as skinny as he was really were bone deep.

Adrianna's soft laughter warmed him.

"Adia," he began, then paused. "Take care of her."

"As much as I can," she replied.

"I can't ask for more," he whispered.

"But you want to, I know." Adrianna sighed. "If it takes as long as you say to get the cover in place and well, there's plenty of time for me to take very good care of her on the back end. But, Spence, if it goes that far…it will happen."

"I know. Just…" he stopped.

"Just what?" she prompted.

"I remembered my birthday present," he said. "It could be anything, or nothing, or so many things. Trying to predict the future is like that, preparing for something that isn't here, may never come, something that could be less trying than we suspect it will."

Adrianna smiled, not realizing how her eyes had softened and the curve of her lips spoke more to Eliot than to Spencer. "I'll take good care of her, Spence, including guaranteeing that the Bureau can't touch what she earns while undercover, and that it can't be used as evidence of anything. There will be legal contracts and many lawyers."

"Ooh, lawyers. The deputy director will quake."

"Will she?"

"Probably not. She eats lawyers as aperitifs."

"Even the expensive ones?"

"She says they're quite tasty, especially when properly broiled with affidavits."

"I would say you need help…"

"But I have more than enough here with me," Spencer finished, smiling into the phone. Even when things were bad, Adrianna managed to lighten the load. Seaver was going to have a bad time of it, no matter what. Adrianna would be there, caring for her, directing her, helping her find ways to cope. Making sure the hellish experiences were avoided. "See you when we get back."

"See you then," Adrianna replied, voice soft and low. She would miss him.

Garcia and Morgan heard the end of the call, the soft exchange of affection for all that the declarations were conspicuously absent. The tech and the agent shared a look, guilt and regret building a low wall of shame around them.

"Wow," Garcia murmured. "He's really into her."

"Yeah. We really messed up," Morgan replied, shaking his head. " I still don't get them."

"We don't have to. They'll be whatever they are until it's over, and then…"

"Then we get to pick up the pieces," Morgan sighed. Shrugged. "What else can we do?"

Garcia nodded, not bothering to talk. What was left to say?


	17. Technicalities

Once a Hooker

a sequel to the fic **To a Hooker**,

both by TarnishedArmour

Timeline: Season 7. By necessity, this is A/U.

Summary: Adrianna had left hooking behind, moved to a new life in Virginia, and renewed her friendship with Spencer Reid. So why is she giving hooker lessons again? *To a Hooker's sequel.

"Agent Seaver?" the tech in the photo section put down the receiver and looked slightly confused. "A Ms. O'Shaughnessey is here to consult regarding your identification and background?" Not confused, insulted.

"Oh. Right. I was told she might be coming out here, but I didn't know if she'd be here at the same time." Ashley moved out away from the various background screens that would be used to create a driver's license, passport, and other photo I.D.s as needed.

The tech looked like he'd bitten a lemon, but remained quiet as Adrianna and her escort walked around the corner.

"Ms. O'Shaughnessey," Ashley said, smiling a little. If she was going to have to be miserable, at least she'd have company.

"Agent Seaver," Adrianna returned, determined to get her calling her Adrianna as soon as possible. Her last name was a bit of a mouthful. "I'd like to speak to the technicians who will be building your backstory, if that is possible."

"I believe it is," replied the other agent, almost cheerfully. "Mr. Wainwright?"

"It is. You'll be working with Analyst C.R. Floyd and her team of clerks." He sighed and began walking to the door. "Please follow me."

Two hours later, Adrianna had gone through the bones of the story Floyd and her clerks had cobbled together. It was better described as the detritus of the story-bones would be generous.

"There are too many things that don't fit," Adrianna said, shaking her head. "Between looks and actions-Seaver is not a small-town or big-city girl. She can pass for a suburbs-raised girl who wanted excitement and glamour in Sin City or a farmgirl who got lured into the big, bad city by some slick, but was stronger than he was because of the time spent working. This," she gestured to the papers in front of her, "reads like a bad movie script."

"She's going to bee a whore. I fail to see how she got into it as relevant."

Adrianna sighed. "Perhaps she'll be a whore," she conceded, "but she'll make more in one month than you do in six. Men will line up to pay her five figures a night, and half of them won't want her for the bedgames. They'll like the pretty, young face, the tight little body, the nice rack…and the undivided attention of all of it directed right at them. The fact they can play with the tits and maybe, if they're feeling particularly manly that night, fuck her, well, that's a bonus. And will get her a bonus, too…say, up to another five figures?" A glance at her escort.

Eliot tipped his head to the side, thinking. Nodded. Looked over at Seaver. "Maybe more."

Floyd's face was an odd mixture of disgust and disbelief.

"She's not going under as a street girl?" she asked.

"Didn't they tell you this? Or is there a 'they' to communicate needs to this department?" Adrianna's eyes were wide with surprise.

"There's a they-a she, actually. And _she_ said that one of her agents needed to go undercover as a prostitute. She didn't say she was going under as a gold-plated prostitute."

Adrianna shook her head. "Platinum. Gold is so passé."

Floyd stared at her for a moment, then laughed. "All right, so what do we need for her?"

Adrianna looked at Seaver. "Which is it? Farmgirl or suburban brat?"

Seaver bit her lip. "Brat, I think. I don't know much about farm life, and if I ran into a rancher or something, I'd be in trouble."

"Suburban brat, then." Adrianna watched her for a long minute, then began to speak. "Felt unwanted, unappreciated; mother too strict about boys and clothes; father unavailable and gone for work most of the time; graduated high school; went to college for a while, but didn't like the continued grind at some posh little school where socializing and academics were all that mattered. Left for a semester to try her luck in the big, wide world; ended up in Vegas. Good girl, raised better than she's been living. Down on her luck, met a girl in the life and wanted to make it easy. Figures all she has to do is start screwing guys, the girl she met is a smart cookie, so…that's where my particular skill sets come in.

"Seaver, list things you're good at, and don't worry about keeping it civilian friendly. All kinds of girls go in to the high-end trade, and some of them are damned dangerous."

With that, Adrianna only listened to the creation, chiming in when things threatened become exotic.

Getting the necessary parts of the story in place took most of the afternoon, and Floyd promised to stay in close contact to make sure all details were matched or supported by the information that anyone could find about the agent. Adrianna left with Seaver, who had a few questions for the consultant who seemed to gain access to a lot of places.

"How did you just walk in? The security on this building isn't obvious, but it's tight."

"Not that tight," Eliot muttered. "I saw six hard entry points and four soft ones, seven, if you've got a particularly good second-story man or access to the tunnels."

Seaver stared at him.

"It's what I do."

"Plan to break into government buildings?"

"I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," he replied, voice easy, eyes carrying a warning.

"Mm. His colourful past has a habit of bleeding into the present, and let's leave it at that, shall we?"

Eliot laughed, a wicked little sound that made Seaver remember her father. He had laughed like that when he was being particularly cruel, emotionally cruel. She stopped in the parking lot and looked at him carefully.

"What's wrong?" Adrianna asked.

Seaver shook her head, dismissing the flashback. Eliot looked at her and made a concession.

"I was in an unusual section of the military. After I left active service, I continued working for Uncle Sam in a somewhat less constricted capacity. At times, there are those who find my particular services useful. To that end, I have maintained a certain security clearance, anonymity is a part of my end. I stay under the radar; they call me when they need me." His eyes scanned the parking lot. "And if I say any more, I would have to kill you."

"Just me?" Seaver asked.

"No."

Adrianna shrugged. "It sounds crazy, but with the boys, well, we all learned and understood that there were certain questions you simply did not ask. They didn't get specific about anything, and we didn't pry. On the other hand, we get damned good security, and they got what they needed."

"I know I'm in the BAU, but I don't see what that could possibly be."

"Danger. The stress-adrenaline of security for the girls and for the men who can afford them, up to and including foreign dignitaries and aristocrats. The occasional need to beat the ever living hell out of someone who's crossed a line," Eliot's hand drifted to Adrianna's back. "We've been out here too long. Let's get you inside, Pretty."

"Pretty? Demeaning your charge is part of the package?"

"Not demeaning," Adrianna told her softly, resisting the light push of Eliot's hand for a minute. "Remembering. Reminding himself, others, that I am not among the threats, even though I could hurt him, possibly kill him while I'm this close."

Seaver shook her head. This was going to be weirder than she had thought if the security guys had to call the girls by an adjective in order to remember not to accidentally kill them in a fit of paranoia.

In the car, Eliot glanced at his principle. "I'm not that paranoid."

"No, but it does good to remind her that neither you nor any of the security employed by Ibby can be dismissed as a rent-a-cop. And I didn't tell her that you call me and the other girls Pretty because you can't remember our names because you haven't slept with any of us," she finished dryly.

"There is that," he said, grinning.

Back at her place, Adrianna stretched out carefully. She was going to practice with Eliot. While Carl was a good instructor and sparring partner, Eliot demanded more of her. Carl would stop her, correct her, and then have her try a move again until her form and speed and strength were good. Eliot would let her make her mistake and tie her up or put her on the ground or pop her hard enough to make sure she was more careful with her form the next time. If she made a mistake twice, he would run her through the move, isolating each part, faster and faster until she was running at full speed. Then they would go back to practice and she would either succeed or fail.

Failing with Carl was not too bad. Failing with Eliot, well, there was something in him that wanted to press in, take the advantage.

"Eliot, when we spar, what are you thinking?" she asked.

"You don't want to know, Pretty," he replied.

"Tell me."

"No."

She changed stretches. And approaches. "Why do you tell me to go all out on my hits?"

"You're strong for a girl," he said looking at her, "but you can't hurt me. You could piss me off, but you can't actually hurt me. Not really. A few bruises-that's nothing."

"It feels like I'm really hurting you, though."

"Stand up." She did. "Come here." She did. He took her hand and held it in his. "I can take the punishment. It's what I do." He put her hand over his heart. "What I have to control is here. Always." He looked down into her eyes, she looked up into his. For the first time, she could see why so many people feared her teddy bear. "You know I was in the service. First time I killed a man, I was just a stupid kid, flag on my shoulder, and so fuckin' terrified that I couldn't'a done it without the endless drills we did in training. It got too easy. I got too good at finding ways of removing obstacles, until there was just what I wanted and what I had to get out of the way. I've done things," he shook his head, "things I got no way of gettin' clean of. Maybe, if I can use what I learned the right way again, use it to protect or save somebody, or help somebody save themselves, maybe a little of what I've done will get washed away." He put his finger over her lips, keeping her from talking. "I'm going to Hell, Adia, no doubt about it; but before I do, I want to try and do as much good as I can." He moved back from her and managed a smile, eyes still dark with memories. "Now, you ready to defend yourself?"

Adrianna nodded and met his rush by stepping to the side and shoving him off-balance into the couch.

"Good start," he said, grinning at her, the darkness of his earlier honesty fading into the rush of what he was good at, what she needed to remember. He rushed her again.

Two hours later, Adrianna groaned from the spot on the floor where she'd taken him down the last time. He was lying next to her, breathing a little harder than normal.

"I think I hate you," she managed.

"I'll cook dinner while you shower."

"I think I love you," she said.

Eliot laughed. It was the same wicked laugh as before, but Adrianna never heard the darkness that spooked Seaver. She only heard the sound of joy from a man who'd seen too little of it in his adult life, and he was not a young man. He was older than she was by at least five years, maybe a little more.

She watched as he levered himself up and held out a hand. She took it and let him pull her up.

"Warm water, not too hot," he reminded her, shooing her into her bathroom. "Take your time."

"I won't be too long," Adrianna replied, walking to the waiting tub. "You'll want to shower before dinner, too."

Eliot smiled his appreciation of her thoughtfulness, and walked into the kitchen.

He shouldn't have told her that much. Technically, to keep the deal he had with certain elements of the government, he should go in there and snap her neck. She wasn't exactly built tough. It would be easy. But he couldn't make himself do it. She didn't know enough to say anything, and she didn't know anything about the jobs he'd done for whatever arcane reasons governments had. All she knew was that he was not a good man, even though he was trying to be a better one.

That night, after dinner, Adrianna curled up in her bed, wishing Spencer were there. A few minutes later, Eliot slid into bed next to her, wrapping one arm around her and keeping his position between her and the door free of obstacles-including her.

"Why didn't you ever try to have sex with any of us?"

"With you, you mean. How do you know I didn't sleep with any of the others?"

"We talk. You never even flirted with us, not really. Did you want to?"

"I was in a bad place when I went to work for Ibby the first time, when you met me. I wasn't willing to touch a woman, didn't know if I'd be able to stop if she told me to-if I'd want to. Biggest thing about temptation isn't saying no to it, it's staying away from it in the first place." He smiled into the darkness where she couldn't see it. "Besides, all you girls were so pretty, so classy, well, I couldn't think of what you'd want me for."

"Oh." Adrianna had never once considered that there were times that men wouldn't try to approach women, wouldn't want to think about sex. Maybe Eliot was lying to her, but it was a kind lie. Hard on him, but kind in his view of the girls. Of her.

They fell asleep shortly after that, Adrianna hoping Spencer got home soon and safe and dreaming of another night in his arms; Eliot hoping the crazy fucker killing off the women crossed his path in a dark alley with no surveillance and dreaming, mercifully, not at all.


End file.
